


counting the stars behind the clouds

by simplestardust



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Blind Character, Blindness, Friends to Lovers, Liam Payne & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, M/M, in which the author went to see a blind singer in concert and made an au out of it, this is a band au of a band how does that work, this is mainly fluff let's not kid ourselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplestardust/pseuds/simplestardust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem wasn’t that Harry was blind. The problem was Harry himself.</p>
<p>or, in which Louis plays keyboard as part of touring singer Harry's back-up band, and spends his time stuck between being oblivious and in denial, while Harry just wants to know how many stars there are in the night sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	counting the stars behind the clouds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [houseofbibi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofbibi/gifts).



> Dedicated to my very own winding wheel, [Bibi](http://l-believe-in-larry.tumblr.com/); thanks for being my constant cheerleader, and happy belated birthday.
> 
> A massive thank you to my magnificent beta, [Nat](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/), who whipped this fic into shape.

“So?”

“Did you understand what we said?”

“Yeah. He’s blind. So what?”

“Welcome to the band.”

Louis would’ve loved to have said that he’d had a wealth of reasons for why he hadn’t thought the whole blind thing mattered - real noble reasons. Yet he hadn’t. He’d just shrugged the idea off. Honestly, though, the dude was a _singer_. Who the fuck cared whether he was blind or not? The guy didn’t need to be able to see to sing.

He’d been right, in a way. It wasn’t that different. The only difference was that the guy – Harry – had to be escorted on stage sometimes, and handed his guitar if he fancied playing for a bit. The drummer took care of all that anyway, they’d said. So for Louis, nothing really had to change.

Or it shouldn’t have, anyway. There were so many ‘shoulds’ and ‘shouldn’ts’ that Louis was no longer sure whether he had regrets now or not.

The problem wasn’t that Harry was blind. The problem was Harry himself.

Louis should’ve walked away the second he’d met him, but he’d been doomed from the start. He’d been a member of the band for about one blissfully-ignorant minute, announced he’d needed to relieve himself, before finding himself lying on his back on the tiled floor of a public men’s toilet.

And then there’d been pee. Yep, definitely a bit of pee.

How was this Louis’ life?

Louis had blinked in confusion, his eyes squinting because of the light on the ceiling. Shit, that’d been bright. He hadn’t really been able to see anything other than it. Louis had just laid there stupidly, trying to get the shamelessness to stand up while in some other dude’s pee.

“Oops,” someone had said.

Louis had heard what had sounded like a person hurriedly doing up their fly and washing their hands. A guy had moved, his head blocking out the ceiling light. He had looked down at the floor but his eyes had never settled on Louis, his brow scrunching as if he’d been looking for something; as if he could somehow miss the guy lying in piss on the floor.

“Hi?” Louis had said, laughing slightly.

The guy had grinned.

Louis had barely seen his face because it was so shadowed – and his vision had still been a bit blotchy from the light – but he could make out that much.

“Help me up?” he’d asked. “Take pity on the guy who fell over in your pee?”

Louis had grinned in a way he’d hoped was friendly and not just a grimace, and the guy had hesitated. Louis had been holding his hand up but the guy hadn’t taken it. Louis had raised an eyebrow at him, which he also hadn’t responded to. After a moment, the guy had stuck out his hand towards the floor, nowhere near Louis’. Louis had cocked his head, yet the guy hadn’t moved it. Louis had sighed and angled himself better to take his hand. The guy had then looked strangely relieved as he’d pulled Louis up.

Damn, the guy was so Louis’ type. His smile had a ridiculous sort of innocence to it that Louis had thought was unjust for someone who didn’t look that much younger than him. It also hadn’t helped that Louis had desperately wanted to play with his curls and they’d only just met.

“Any reason why you’re peeing on the floor? Or is it to catch out unaware newcomers like me?” Louis had asked, teasingly.

The guy had frowned again. Damn, that furrow had been frustratingly cute as well. It had almost looked _petulant_. And he still hadn’t been able to meet Louis’ eyes. As soon as it’d appeared though, the frown had smoothed out and a slightly more reserved smile had been put in its place.

“Sorry. Sometimes it’s hard to really... aim properly. Y’know, with these.”

The guy had gestured to his eyes. Louis had waited for the guy to carry on, raising an eyebrow when nothing had happened. Louis had wondered whether pointing at your eyes was some weird Cheshire thing. Then Louis had remembered why he was here. And Louis had felt like a moron.

He was blind. This was kinda Louis’ new boss. And Louis had just been a dick.

Louis had done absolutely nothing to recover from his failure to engage his brain and instead had stood and gawped at his own idiocy. So the guy had carried on talking.

“I know I should accept their help – people always offer to help me – but I don’t want to be a burden. And of course, I mean, it’s helping another guy go to the toilet which would be kinda degrading for us both. Like, I’m standing there with my dick out, and they’re having to help me with it and _nobody’s_ having a good time. And I could go into the stalls, yeah, which would help with not messing up the floor and not having people fall over, but then it would be me getting stuck in a stall or bumping into walls, which would either just be intense embarrassment for us all or me going to A &E every time I wanted to wee, which, y’know, would be draining for all the doctors-”

Louis had finally managed to shut his own mouth, and decided to put the poor guy out of his misery. He had taken the guy’s hand and shook it. The guy had quickly caught on and shook it back, exhaling and smiling.

“I’m Louis. Your new keyboard player. Since I’m guessing you’re the glorious vocal talent that we’re all here to support.”

“Harry,” the guy had said, his eyes fixed on Louis’ forehead.

Louis had wished he was taller; Louis had also wished he wasn’t such an idiot. “Well, this probably wasn’t the friendly first meeting that the big boss men had envisioned,” he said.

“Not too _un_ friendly, really,” Harry had said, his grin turning mischievous.

“How so?”

“My wee’s on you. Can’t get much more intimate than that.”

Louis had laughed, which had made Harry completely light up. Louis should’ve walked away there and then. Gotten out while he still could. He had been getting stuck already and he should’ve realised it. Yet all he’d done was to laugh and say: “That’s a fair point.”

Denial was a wonderful thing, in the moment. Yet Louis was learning that it was absolute shit when you stopped doing it and you realised you were in a mess that you could’ve gotten yourself easily out of if you’d just wised up.

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” Harry had said, edging towards the door. “Not to be rude when we only just met but, you should probably shower before rehearsals.”

With that, Harry had smirked and walked out. And Louis had cursed that every single facial expression Harry had made had been endearing.

 

-

 

Feeling like an outsider had never been Louis’ style. Sure, these people had already known each other for a while. Sure, they’d already been touring. Yet Louis hadn’t allowed that to be a problem for him. He’d just acted as if he’d been there all along and had known them all for years. Soon enough, it hadn’t felt like an act anymore.

Playing in a back-up band on a stage tour for an artist Louis had only vaguely heard of hadn’t exactly been Louis’ dream, and neither had being part of a band that didn’t bother to hire crew and instead did everything themselves. This meant Louis was dumped with booking all the venues and lumping in with PR and roadie duties. However, it was playing keyboard for a living, so he’d dived headfirst into it the second he’d heard about it. He’d listened to the guy’s songs, too, and Louis had thought they were surprisingly good. They seemed simple enough for him to play as well, so he hadn’t thought he could go far wrong.

It turned out that the band themselves _could_ go far wrong. Apparently, according to Liam, their previous keyboard player of two months had ‘not fit in’. Zayn and Niall had been much less reserved about him. Harry had either been completely oblivious to the entire ordeal or hadn’t wanted to talk about it. So Louis had made efforts to ‘restore morale’ by making ridiculous jokes that Liam and Zayn tried to not respond to and Niall and Harry inexplicably found hilarious. This meant that sometimes before a show, Louis would just sit backstage with Harry and Niall to make them laugh.

That night in Birmingham was no different. Harry’s laugh and huge grin had settled into this little dimpled smile and Louis was torn between being on a high and being ridiculously frustrated. Yet he didn’t have time to ponder on either as Liam popped his head round the corner to announce that the show was about to start.

Louis looked between Harry, sitting on the floor with his unfairly long legs splayed out in front of him, and Niall, doubled-over laughing on a stool. He wasn’t sure which one needed his help to walk more; the languid cat or the now-pained Irishman. Louis settled on just giving Niall a sharp kick in the ankles as he walked past. It wasn’t that Harry was needier - it was simply blatant favouritism, and judging by the grunt Niall made, he knew that.

“Come on, Hazza,” Louis said. “I’m gonna pull you up now.”

Harry raised his hand up and Louis gently touched it to let Harry know what was coming, before gripping it tight and pulling him up. Louis then stood and waited as Harry ran his hand over both the air and Louis’ arm before finding his elbow to hook his own hand through. Louis often couldn’t resist giving Harry’s hand a brief pat because it usually made Harry smile like fucking sunshine, and Louis was a complete sucker for it.

It had become routine. Harry had a cane - of course he did; it was pretty much an extension of his arm - yet he always preferred to be without it when he was performing. He said it put the audience more at ease (and that someone escorting him generally helped avoid various disastrous incidents of falling over electrical cords. Not always, though. Louis still remembered the time he and Harry had ended up in a heap and tangle of wires while on stage, and Niall’s raucous laughing being what had saved them from intense humiliation).

Harry insisted that it was mainly the audience thing though, and Louis actually believed him; Louis had never met anyone who could more easily read the mood of an audience just by listening.

It wasn’t a big crowd that night. It was one of the bar venues rather than an actual stage, and these crowds were always a bit more scattered. It was a comfortable enough place; all deep reds and orange lights with dark wooden panels, and that compulsory, pungent beer-smell. A good fifteen-odd people were sitting and intently waiting for them for to start, but most were carrying on their own business. The stages generally had a better turnout. It frustrated Louis because Harry had a _great_ voice and great songs, and people generally liked him, which was why Harry had been sent on tour in the first place. Yet they were still made to play venues like this. Zayn had said that it wasn’t like Harry was a superstar so they shouldn’t be picky, and a show’s a show, but _still_. Louis thought Harry deserved better.

Louis always walked Harry at his normal walking pace, which Liam had been annoyed about since day one. Louis told Liam that he refused to treat Harry like he was fragile until Harry actually complained, and Harry kept up just fine.

Louis pulled his arm away once they reached the mic stand, angling it towards Harry’s mouth.

“Here you go, Hazza,” Louis said.

Harry felt for the mic itself and smiled lightly when he found it.

Some people in the bar started to perk up at the activity on the stage, but lost interest when they didn’t immediately burst into song.

“Good turnout tonight,” Louis said, feeling completely guiltless.

“Better give a good show then,” Harry said, smiling.

Louis patted Harry’s back before heading towards his keyboard. He ran his hands over the keys as he sat down, clearing his mind and taking a deep breath in and out. He always remembered how to play the songs more easily when he wasn’t thinking about it.

“Hi, everybody,” Harry said. “I never know what to say at this point but ‘hi’ is a pretty good place to start. I’m Harry Styles. Some of you know me as the guy who makes an art of falling over amps, and others know me as the guy who dresses like he can’t see what’s in his closet. I want to thank you all for coming tonight, and I hope you enjoy the show.”

There was a brief applause and one person cheered loudly from the back. Louis raised himself off his stool slightly to try to spot them. A fan was here. Good, that would make things easier.

They launched into ‘Happily’, which was always a great one for loosening the crowd up and getting them to join in. Harry’s vocal wasn’t even nearly perfect but he threw himself into it with such passion and excitement that people quickly got into the rhythm of it and started bobbing along. Harry started waving his arms about in a ridiculous attempt to dance as he sang, which made Louis laugh softly.

Yes, the bars were smaller venues and the crowd numbers were always unpredictable, but Harry _loved_ playing in them. He was brilliant on actual stages too, sure, but in bars he completely relaxed and let himself loose. It was infectious really; it wasn’t just the audience that responded to it but the band did too. It was times like this that Louis would freestyle a bit of the keyboard melody, and even Liam wouldn’t usually get annoyed with him (though Louis did usually check Liam’s mood, after that time Louis had tried to jazz up the verses in ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ and Liam had tossed one of his drumsticks at Louis’ head).

Once Harry reached the bridge, _‘we’re on fire now’_ , Louis let the song go to the rest of the band and stood up, facing the audience. He raised his hands high over his head and mimed clapping along, making the odd gesture for them to copy him, and mouthed the words. Most of the people who’d been watching from the start joined in, making a racket, and this only seemed to make Harry dance around all the more wildly. Louis unapologetically tried to angle himself to see Harry’s face, and smirked victoriously when he saw him grinning.

Harry laughed as the song came to a close, finding the mic stand and steadying himself on it. He took deep breaths to calm down as the audience finished applauding.

“Thank you,” he said breathily. “Sorry I’m a bit croaky today; Louis was making me laugh so hard before we came on stage that I was crying.”

Liam and Zayn shook their heads while smiling as Niall let out his beastly laugh. Louis rolled his eyes and tried to contain his own grin.

“ _Crying_ ,” he muttered, forgetting about his own mic and hearing it come out louder than he’d expected. Of all the words, Harry had picked _crying_. Louis sighed.

Harry let out what could only be described as a _giggle_ and Louis sighed even harder. The audience seemed to be enjoying it though, letting out a few chuckles and smiling. Harry’s ability to warm up an audience had always been something Louis admired.

“Speaking of,” Harry said. “I need to introduce the band who so kindly follow me around to make sure I don’t mess up, and actually make my songs sound somewhat decent.”

Harry then turned sideways to gesture behind him, waving his hand at the correct person as he mentioned each one. Louis remembered that time he’d stood with Harry on an empty stage, moving his arm for him to show him where each band member would be, and being stunned when Harry had exactly replicated the arm movement on his own afterwards.

“From left to right, we’ve got Zayn Malik on bass, Niall Horan on lead guitar, Liam Payne on drums, and on keyboard we have Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis gave a brief nod to the crowd as they clapped, before standing to get Harry’s acoustic guitar. Liam followed him to get a stool, both of them bringing them over to Harry.

“For this next one,” Harry said. “I’m going to play a bit. I hope you don’t mind. There’s a reason I usually leave this to Niall, but just humour me.”

Liam left the stool down, Harry backing up slowly and pushing himself onto it. Louis looped the strap over Harry’s head, resting the guitar in his lap until Harry got a grip on it, before turning to adjust the mic stand. Louis put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave it a light stroke without really thinking about it, before going back to his keyboard.

“This is ‘Fool’s Gold’,” Harry said, before he started playing.

By all accounts, it was a standard show; neither a magnificent success nor a crushing failure. Just middle of the road. Liam said he liked it best that way because it meant less pressure for the next one. Louis didn’t really understand Liam. Harry seemed happy with it, and so did the audience, so that was what Louis thought mattered. A couple of people had left, as they always did because they figured Harry wouldn’t know about it, and Louis had glared at them as hard as he could. A few other people had filled in their places part way through though, and some who’d been drinking at the bar had become Harry’s greatest fans for one night only, which meant there was plenty of noise. Louis knew that was how Harry judged a show, so Louis had subconsciously started to do the same. The louder the better. If a show ever started a riot, Louis thought Harry would probably be thrilled about it.

They closed with ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’, with the whole band (and most of the audience) joining in with belting out the chorus, as normal. The applause at the end was as good as Louis could hope for, as Harry thanked them all for coming and that he hoped to hear them all again soon.

Louis was about to go help Harry backstage, when he saw a girl dash up to him. She leaned in to Harry and said something quietly enough that Louis couldn’t hear. Louis tried to busy himself with becoming a one-man roadie by clearing the instruments, as his bandmates seemed pleased at having little to do. Though, Louis unapologetically dumped all the amps on the floor when he heard Harry call his name.

Louis expected to see Harry looking happy but instead he was looking _smug_. He was smirking as Louis reached him, and Louis couldn’t help himself.

“You look pleased,” he said, it coming out a little more strangled than he’d intended.

“I am,” Harry said.

“Did you get her number?”

Harry frowned. “Whose number?”

“That girl’s.”

Harry’s smirk returned, bigger than before. “Oh, she wasn’t hitting on me.”

“No?”

“No. She said something very interesting.”

“What?” Louis asked, feeling a little wary. Louis knew that Harry’s idea of ‘interesting’ wasn’t exactly how the rest of the world defined it.

Harry paused. He wasn’t hesitating; Louis knew him better than that. Harry was _teasing him_. Louis wanted to throw something at him. He wondered where he’d put Liam’s drumsticks.

“She told me that the keyboard player has a great arse.”

Louis wasn’t sure whether all the colour had drained from his face or whether it had gained several new shades of pink. He stood there gaping, as Harry looked more and more smug with each passing moment. So, Louis retaliated.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Do you wanna touch it?” he said.

Harry’s face switched so violently between surprise, intrigue, and outrage that Louis burst out laughing. Louis bumped his shoulder with Harry’s, and Louis grinned triumphantly when Harry still didn’t react.

“Come on,” Louis said, offering Harry his elbow.

Liam, Zayn and Niall were finishing loading up the bus with all their equipment when Louis and Harry joined them. Louis had managed to skip out on being a roadie; another victory.

“Look who’s skiving,” Zayn said.

Louis just grinned smugly in response.

“Back to the bar, lads,” Niall said. “Time to get absolutely bladdered.”

Louis, Liam and Zayn all agreed, locking up the bus. Louis smirked as Harry still didn’t seem to really be paying attention. Louis looked up at the sky, and leaned in to whisper in Harry’s ear.

“Six stars.”

Harry seemed to finally snap out of his reverie. “Cloudy?”

“Yeah,” Louis said. “And the lights from the airport.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

Harry smiled, and Louis patted his hand softly as he moved to follow the others back into the bar. As soon as they got in, Louis pulled Harry to an abrupt halt as Harry’s newest drunken fans jumped in front of them. Louis narrowed his eyes as a man started talking to Harry slowly and _ridiculously_ loudly.

“ _We – want – to – give – you – a – drink_ ,” he said.

Louis went to make some biting comment, because he was sick of this; wherever they went, some idiot seemed to think Harry wouldn’t be able to hear them unless they emphasised every bloody word they said.

“ _Thank – you_ ,” Harry said, mimicking his tone and volume. “I’d love one. By the way, I’m blind, not deaf.”

Sometimes people had the decency to look embarrassed when they realised, but this guy just looked pleased.

Louis rolled his eyes, leading Harry and following the guy back to his group. They were all loud and energetic as hell but they seemed harmless enough; they cheered loudly as Harry reached them, in a way Louis would’ve been more used to seeing in a football stadium. They shoved a drink into Harry’s hand, and he grinned as he thanked them.

Louis moved his arm for Harry to let go, and going over to the bar to join the rest of the band. Just as he was leaving though, he jumped as he felt Harry slap his arse. Well, it was more Harry’s wrist than his hand. Louis laughed as he turned to see Harry smiling. Not smirking, just outright beaming. Louis definitely turned pink this time. He also wondered whether that girl was still there, and whether he wanted to find those drumsticks and throw them at her or if he wanted to thank her.

 

-

 

It had kind of been like a retraining process. Liam had likened it to a child learning to walk. Niall had said it was like being dumped in a foreign country where you didn’t know the language, and everything you tried to say happened to be an insult against someone’s mother. Zayn hadn’t bothered with a simile and had just said that sometimes it was rough but you carried on regardless, because ‘fuck knows Harry has to’. Yet all three agreed that it was worth it because he was _Harry_.

Louis thought they were all being overdramatic. It wasn’t that big a deal. Not really. Some adjustments had to be made, that was all. Just breaking some old habits and making new ones. Small ones; nothing like the habit Niall had tried to form of cutting the words ‘look’, ‘see’ and ‘watch’ out of his vocabulary when around Harry, which had been well-intentioned but just a bit of a mess. Harry said he’d appreciated the effort but had drawn the line when Niall had asked him if he wanted to ‘listen to TV’.

It wasn’t like Harry would ever know about Louis’ habit change. Louis had always been taught to look someone in the eye when he talked to them. But with Harry, it seemed kind of redundant, because Harry couldn’t look back. Louis instead taught himself to look at Harry’s entire face to figure out what he was thinking or feeling. Louis pretty much revelled in the fact that he’d become a more observant person in those few months he’d known Harry. (Or, six months. Or however long it had been. It felt like it had gone too fast.) Lottie said it unnerved her how good Louis had suddenly become at reading her. He could stir all sorts of shit. It was _fantastic_.

He still paid far more attention to Harry’s face than anyone else’s, though. Especially to his eyebrows. And his mouth. They were the most expressive. He’d notice the smallest muscle twitch in his cheek, see Harry was anxious, and set about distracting him. The rest of the band mocked him relentlessly whenever they caught him staring intently at Harry’s lips. Not within Harry’s hearing of course, thank god; they then just gave Louis annoying knowing looks and he threw obscene gestures silently back at them. Harry being blind had its perks sometimes. Yet Louis wouldn’t have been staring so hard in the first place if Harry could see, so he wouldn’t have been having the problem in the first place. Well, he _probably_ wouldn’t have been. Harry’s lips were pretty nice to look at. From a purely aesthetic perspective, of course.

Yet that was it, really. The only big difference about Harry’s sight, and Louis had grown into it as quickly as he’d learned to ride a bike. And frankly, learning to balance and move about on just two wheels was a much bigger change. Sure, Harry sometimes needed help walking about but it wasn’t often. Sure, sometimes he bumped into walls, but Liam did that often enough himself and the bloke had perfect vision.

And anyway Louis had always been a vocal person; he could talk and talk and keep going on long after he’d forgotten what he’d been trying to say in the first place. And Harry’s hearing was perfect. It turned out Harry had a gob on him himself and they’d just natter away about absolutely nothing yet no one else could get a word in edgeways. It also helped that Harry seemed to find Louis hysterical, and Louis was able to bring out Harry’s mischievous side, even if Liam called it ‘being a bad influence’. The two of them soon ended up with a long list of inside jokes that the rest of the band just learned to ignore.

It had kind of spiralled from there. Louis and Harry had exchanged phone numbers before they’d all gone home for one of their few week-long breaks. Zayn had called it a dark day; he said the last thing they all needed was for it to be _easier_ for Harry and Louis to talk to each other. Harry had said that maybe it meant they’d shut up more around the rest of the band. Louis had tried not to laugh as he’d noticed that Harry had been blatantly lying.

The first time Louis had received a text from Harry, he’d raised an eyebrow but not said anything about it. Of course it’d been some stupid joke – _‘How about this one: eating clocks is time consuming’_ – which Louis had rolled his eyes at and then saved anyway. Harry had later explained that his phone read messages back to him through headphones, and he could type them on an app that mimicked braille. So Louis took to messaging him ridiculous and inane shit as much as he wanted. Which was a lot, because Harry was fun to tease, since he usually threw it right back at Louis and then they got locked into some sort of verbal hair-pulling which Louis always found hilarious. None of the other lads in the band seemed to _get_ Louis in the same way; they wouldn’t take the bait, and god forbid sometimes they actually got _offended_.

Yet that day, Louis wasn’t in the mood. He’d been on a winning streak in a footie shoot-out at Hyde Park with Stan, distracting himself from nerves about their first show back after being at home. Niall though had called him at just the perfect moment for Stan to score. Louis had grumbled while Stan gloated.

“Hey, mate,” Niall had slurred down the phone.

“Are you drunk?”

“Well, uh. Kinda. I was.”

“You remember we’ve got a show in a few hours, right?”

“I know,” Niall had said, dragging out the ‘o’ sound. “That’s why I’m calling. I came down here to get some extra rehearsal time for the show, right, but I sorta got distracted because Josh showed up with a huge pack of Guinness and wanted to get plastered so I said I’d have a few but ended up having loads because it’s _beer_ and it’s-”

“Niall.”

“We sorta busted your keyboard.”

“You sorta busted my keyboard,” Louis had deadpanned.

“We wanted to see if we could be a two-man band. So we were running from instrument to instrument and playing a bunch of songs and it was _amazing_ craic _,_ we sounded so good, I know we were wasted but _I’m telling you-_ ”

“Niall.”

“We sorta miscalculated the running a bit. I thought I was running around your keyboard and instead ran right at it, and it fell on the floor with the loudest thud, and now it sounds sorta weird. We’ve been sitting here for ages pressing all the keys but we can’t get it to work and we’ve tried, I swear to god we’ve tried, I’m so sorry-”

“‘Weird’ how?” Louis had interrupted.

“The kind of weird where even Ray Charles couldn’t make this sound good.”

So Louis had found himself dashing around London, tube station to tube station, making frantic calls to anyone who he thought might have been able to supply him with a keyboard within the next hour. Of course this would happen for their first show back. He finally found one after getting through to Ed, and Louis had barged his way into Ed’s flat and taken it with nothing more than a shouted ‘thanks’ as he dashed away again. Which was more than the turnstiles at the tube station had gotten, as Louis shouted abuse at them and the general public for being in his way.

He was probably going to miss soundcheck. He only had half an hour to get there and he still had to change at Paddington. The luxury of missing load-in wasn’t even worth it. Trying to avoid smacking people with the keyboard on the packed tube was pretty much a full-time job, until he finally managed to get a seat, which he suspected he was only given to stop him causing further injury. There was a man who had taken to just scowling at him, and Louis had half a mind to whack him with the keyboard again, just for good measure.

He nestled Ed’s keyboard standing upright in-between his knees, and dug his phone out of his pocket, just to have something to do that wasn’t attacking strangers on public transport. His phone was as chaotic as he’d expected it to be; he had about eleven missed calls, three voicemails and fifteen-odd texts. Yet most of them were pretty much the same as each other; all of Liam’s were demanding to know where he was, Niall’s were frantic apologies and pledges to steal from the budget to buy him an even better one, and the single text from Zayn was calmly asking him when he thought his arse would arrive on his stool.

He wasn’t angry at Niall or Josh, not really. Well, he was. But he was furious about the fact he was about to perform with a keyboard that wasn’t his, that he probably wouldn’t have time to soundcheck, and that he’d just spent a fortune to take six different tube rides and he’d been packed in against sweaty commuters for the entire time. Louis swore to have a fantastically awkward conversation with Zayn about travel expenses; there was no way he was paying for this shit.

He realised that Harry must’ve been running late too when the only message that arrived from him was a reply to something Louis had sent hours earlier, and he couldn’t even remember what he’d said in the first place.

 

_From: Haz_

_So’s your face._

 

Louis didn’t even have it in him to mock him for being unoriginal. About five different responses popped into his head, but he was too pissed off to bother with any of them. And that dude was _still scowling at him_.

 

_To: Haz_

_my face is terrifying because i’ve never more wanted to play the keyboard using someone’s head than right now_

 

Louis decided to glare back. The guy got even more livid at this, which Louis wanted to laugh at. He gave a significant glance towards the keyboard, cocking his head to the side, and then raised his eyebrow at the guy. Then he nodded between the keyboard and the man again, before smirking.

The guy looked like he wanted to punch him, but turned his back to Louis instead. Excellent.

 

_From: Haz_

_Niall’s face? Liam just called me. Sorry Lou. Did you find another one?_

_I’m on the bus – are you on your way?_

 

Louis needed to let it out. He was about to go on stage. And Harry was just _there_.

 

_To: Haz_

_i mean how bloody hard is it to leave a fucking keyboard alone, it was just sitting there and minding its own business, all ready for the show, and then two bloody morons decide it’d be a great idea to getting fucking pissed and shit over everything_

_why would you do that around the instruments i mean how fucking stupid can you get_

_i’m gonna look like a complete and utter knob when i get up on that fucking stage and you all sound great and then i start to play this unchecked keyboard and it starts screeching bloody murder so that people would rather castrate themselves than listen to it_

_mr horan is fucking lucky we were in london when this happened and not in the back-end of nowhere like fucking street_

_and who the fuck names a village ‘street’ anyway it’s bloody idiotic_

_this place smells like complete wank and i’ve been on the fucking tube for over an hour and each time it’s smelt like this so the first thing i’m gonna have to do is take a fucking shower and if liam is a bastard about it then he’s gonna have to fuck off because the keyboard is bad enough without me stinking like piss for the entire set_

 

The voiceover announced he’d arrived in Paddington, and he made sure to ‘accidentally’ smack the guy in the legs with the keyboard on his way out, throwing an exaggerated wave at him as he went.

Twenty minutes until show time. He could do this. He battled his way through the crowd to find the Bakerloo line, hugging the keyboard close to him to avoid making further joyous acquaintances. It wasn’t until he’d jammed himself and the keyboard in-between a suited and irritated-looking woman and a teenager humming to themselves that he looked back at his phone.

 

_From: Haz_

_...I’d forgotten to put my headphones in._

 

Louis just sat and blinked for a moment. Then he looked back over his messages. Then he started laughing. Well, Harry must’ve made even more lovely friends on his journey than Louis had.

Louis ran as fast as he could, while carrying a heavy instrument, to charge through the back door of the venue just five minutes before they were due to perform. It was an actual theatre this time – albeit a small one – and a few people moved to stop him before they saw the keyboard and got out of his way. He found the band all waiting to go on, with Zayn peeking through to see the size of the crowd. Niall turned completely red when he saw Louis, and started rambling apologies, while Liam opened his mouth to rant, so Louis pointedly put his finger on his lips before lowering himself and the keyboard to the floor to test it.

He hastily stuck some headphones in the keyboard to keep it quiet, and played the opening of ‘Night Changes’. The sound wasn’t as clear and smooth as his own had been, and it probably meant that he was going to be grumpy at the end of the show because he wouldn’t sound as good as he knew he could be. It’d have to do though.

He pulled his headphones out as soon as he noticed Harry lowering himself down to sit near him.

“How is it?” Harry asked.

“A bit brittle,” Louis said. “The rest of you will have to pick up the slack, and finally start earning your keep. I’ve been carrying this band for far too long.”

Harry laughed, his grin spreading ridiculously wide across his face in the way that Louis was too familiar with.

“So, who got to listen to my lovely speech on the bus?” Louis asked. “Did I traumatise anyone today?”

Harry’s cheeks turned slightly pink as he bit his lip, yet his grin only got brighter.

“Judging by the absolute railing a woman gave me about ‘corrupting young minds’, there were about three families on there with young kids. And judging by the kid who later said to me, ‘This bus smells like complete wank too’, she probably had a point. There was one girl there though who found it hilarious and kept insisting on slapping me on the back. Apparently we’re both ‘champs’.”

“It’s always nice to be recognised for one’s heroics,” Louis said.

Harry laughed again, as he lifted his cane to push himself off the floor. “By the way, you do stink,” he said. “You should probably have that shower.”

Louis laughed. “You got one of those ‘showers in a can’ in that fedora of yours?”

“There’s one in the loo round the corner. We’ll stall,” Harry said. “Try to have fun tonight, by the way. Even with that.”

Harry gestured at the keyboard. Louis gave Harry a quick pat on the arm and ran off, ignoring Liam’s protests. The shower was easy to find but it was _bleak_ ; it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned after the last guy (or ten guys) used it, and the water barely reached warm. Yet like the keyboard, he just had to make do. He washed as fast as he could, dashing out nearly as soon as he’d dashed in, only stopping on the way to the stage to towel his hair on someone’s hoodie.

Harry was talking to the audience as Louis arrived. Louis realised someone else must’ve walked Harry on stage, and was surprised when he found himself feeling resentful. Maybe he was still pissed off from the tube.

His keyboard had been set up in the normal place and he walked on over to it, settling down on the stool and resting his fingers on the unfamiliar keys, trying to shove the weird weight off his chest.

Harry had apparently decided to introduce the band while waiting for Louis. Actual stage audiences tended to prefer the more formal set-up, so he figured they wouldn’t mind starting in the boring way. Louis looked out at the audience to smile, since he knew he would be next.

“And our late arrival is Louis Tomlinson,” Harry said. “Who I have been assured has a great arse.”

Louis couldn’t see Harry’s face, but he bet he was smirking. He couldn’t see his own face either, but he but he bet it was bright red. He ended up fumbling the start of the set entirely because of the keyboard and definitely not because of anything else.

 

-

 

Liam had initially claimed that getting Louis to drive the tour bus would keep him out of trouble. Louis had decided that it meant that it he could take diversions whenever he wanted to. It had taken Liam about twenty minutes to realise his mistake, as Louis ignored his protests and tried to manoeuvre the bus through the drive thru for McDonald’s just because he’d smelt it as they’d driven past and had wanted food. Niall and Harry had immediately announced what they wanted, while Zayn had mumbled that they should consider hiring a roadie. Louis had then made it a tradition, which made Liam despair over timetables, and Zayn glare over budgeting, and Liam had compromised by putting it _into_ the schedules while Zayn had continued to glare. Louis had said he felt proud of Liam, which Liam had appreciated, and Louis had then patted him roughly on the head, which Liam had appreciated a little less. Louis had defended himself by saying he’d wanted Harry to be able to hear what he was doing, so ‘a hearty thwack’ was the only way to go. This still hadn’t made Liam suitably appreciative.

That day was no different to tradition, as Louis drove with his chicken burger on his lap, tantalising him until he pulled over to eat it. As soon as he’d victoriously parked in a hard shoulder, he saw the passenger door open and Harry’s cane start patting the passenger seat. Louis started shamelessly tearing into his lunch as Harry hauled himself onto the chair, pulling his own cheeseburger out of his pocket.

Harry leaned back in his seat, chewing languorously with a small content smile on his face. By the time he had taken his third bite, Louis had nearly finished.

He could’ve started driving. Liam was already fretting about them getting to Southampton on time; Louis could already hear him muttering ‘Telford’ under his breath. which of course was that time Louis had accidentally made them all miss load-in and soundcheck because ‘45 minutes is _plenty_ of time, Liam, we can definitely pull over to have a nerf gun war’, so really, just driving away was in _everyone’s_ best interests.Harry though looked so relaxed that Louis didn’t really want to disturb him, so despite ‘everyone’, Louis remained perfectly still.

Watching the way Harry’s jaw moved when he chewed shouldn’t have felt as indecent as it did. Louis hoped that the lads couldn’t really see him through the headrest. Judging by the chatter in the back, he was safe. Louis also hoped that this was one of those moments when time lied, and he hadn’t been staring for as long as it felt like he had.

Harry though seemed to sense that something was up. He stopped and angled himself to face Louis, a small frown growing on his forehead. “Lou?” he said.

“You’ve got a bit…” Louis said, automatically raising his hand to point.

And he did. A bit of mayo was resting on Harry’s left jaw. Tormenting Louis. Louis wanted to start the bus and drive off and pretend he hadn’t even started the sentence. Or to even just drop his hand, because Harry couldn’t see what he was pointing at anyway. Yet as Harry laughed quietly and starting wiping entirely the wrong side of his mouth, Louis felt his hand traitorously reach over to cup Harry’s face.

Harry immediately stilled.

The tip of Louis’ little finger lightly stroked the soft skin below Harry’s jaw. Louis started to feel a dull pounding in his ears as his throat became dry.

It didn’t feel like burning, it felt like electricity; if Louis moved his hand, the circuit would break. It was both familiar and strange; Harry’s hand on his arm felt as normal as a beanie on his head, and his own hand in Harry’s as he pulled him up was nothing more than gripping a banister as he walked up the stairs, yet this, his index resting on Harry’s cheekbone, felt like something entirely new. As his thumb gently bumped the corner of Harry’s lips, he felt them part slightly, and he instinctively bit his own.

“A bit of…” Louis tried again, his voice coming out huskier than he’d expected it to. And then his brain started to catch up with him. He cleared his throat, swiping his thumb quickly over Harry’s smeared jaw.

“Mayo,” Louis said, trying to get his voice back to normal. “You had a bit of mayo.”

He knew he was moving his hand slowly, but it felt like he was wrenching it away. But as soon as he’d moved it, it flopped fast and uselessly into his own lap as if dragged down by a rock. Louis felt his cheeks warming up – damn it – so he turned to find a napkin to wipe the mayo off his own thumb.

Louis swallowed as he realised Harry hadn’t moved. Louis didn’t want to look at his face for a reaction. Judging by the complete silence in the bus, the band had seen _that._ His throat started to feel a little tighter.

“Oh,” Harry said, after a moment. In the silence around them, Harry’s voice sounded too deep, too loud. Too heavy.

Louis cursed himself in his own head. What the _hell_ had he been playing at? He swallowed again and launched himself into starting the bus. As he did so, he noticed Harry in his periphery searching for his seatbelt. Louis tried to not pay attention, but all this time had left him hyperaware of Harry’s actions. Damn.

It took a lot of restraint on Louis’ part to not launch the bus from stationary to speeding the second it started. Instead, he cleared his throat again and threw his voice unnecessarily loudly into the back of the bus.

“So does anyone remember that time that woman thought she was going into labour at our gig and Niall just sat there? _Let’s talk about that_.”

“Oi!” Niall said back just as loudly. “I told you lads a million times, I don’t have the slightest notion on birthing babies, and I thought it was just another one of your jokes too-”

“Her water broke, Niall,” Louis said.

The bus went silent again, and he begged for Zayn or just anyone to say something. His throat felt thick again, and he tried to quickly come up with something else to rib Niall about but he’d gone completely blank.

“What, did you think we asked her to stick a water bottle up her dress and open it when Harry was singing his high note?” Zayn said, with uncharacteristic gusto.

Louis let out a sigh of relief, and started to breathe normally again.

“It’s possible,” Niall said defensively. “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Did you not think it was a bit weird that we’d let Harry launch himself into the crowd to help her?”

“Harry just wasn’t in on it, I figured.”

“I called an ambulance, Niall,” Louis said.

“Could’ve been a prank call.”

“What about when the ambulance _arrived_?” Liam asked, seeming to catch on.

“Did you think the paramedics were in on it?” Louis asked.

“Did you think they were strippers?” Zayn asked.

They went round and around, Niall’s arguments getting feebler every second, yet Harry still didn’t say a word.

Louis wished he wasn’t the one driving so he could throw himself out of the bus.

 

-

 

Harry was one of the most positive people Louis had ever known. Sure, he may not have sounded it – Harry said he had a voice that sounded like he belonged in some sort of gothic castle and he could eat you at any moment – but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Harry spouted shit about being nice to people and how much he liked fields. By all accounts, Harry was ridiculous. Yet it was that positivity that drew people to Harry like he was a candle in a blackout.

Yet everyone had their bad days, and even candles could burn out. What Harry needed was a match to light the flame again; Louis always tried to be that match for him.

Those times were rare, but they happened. Sometimes Louis would have to coerce Harry on stage, and the crowd would have to get him into it. Sometimes Harry would curl up in the back of the tour bus and say he wasn’t moving, and Louis told everyone to leave him alone. Sometimes Harry would cry, and Louis would just hold him. Sometimes Harry would disappear without warning, in a city they’d never been in before, and return just before the start of the show and glowing about his adventure. Those times, the only thing Louis could do was to tell everyone to not worry, while trying to listen to his own advice.

This time, though, Louis didn’t know what to do. They were doing a two-night stint in a club in Brighton, and by all accounts, the first show had been a resounding success. Louis had fought hard to convince the proprietor to give them a shot, and it felt like a personal victory as well as one for the band. It had definitely been their best gig yet – since Louis had joined them, anyway. The venue was enormous, and the light show the technician had put on meant that they could only just see the audience. The crowd had started out big, and had only gotten bigger as the night had gone on. If people hadn’t known Harry’s name at the start of the gig, they were cheering it by the end. The noise had been _deafening_ , which Louis knew Harry loved. Fans were singing along from the start and newcomers were joining in halfway through. People were dancing and bopping enough for the crowd to be a sheer wall of erratic sound and movement. Harry had shone throughout the entire thing; he’d been chatty and funny and just at complete ease. Louis had never enjoyed a show more, getting lost in the energy and excitement.

After the gig, they’d all been on a complete high. Some people had invited them out afterwards, and Louis could only just picture what the bar had looked like. He’d gotten wonderfully tipsy, as they all had, and he could barely remember who those people had been either, but for one evening they’d all been best friends. Harry though, as usual, had been at the centre of it.

Until the moment that he wasn’t anymore. The night was fuzzy enough that Louis hadn’t been able make sense of what had happened. A drunken Niall had coerced Harry to dance with him – it was to some pop song that Louis had proclaimed to love despite not having heard it before – and Harry had laughed as Niall swung him around. Then they’d all started to dance. Some girl had rambled on about how she was exhausted from dancing at the show and wanted Zayn to escort her home, which Zayn agreed to until Liam reminded them that Zayn had no idea where the girl lived.

Then Harry had just seemed come to a stop. It hadn’t been a sudden change, there was no ‘break’ moment; he’d just slowly wound down until he wasn’t cracking a smile anymore and just sat silently at the bar, until he rang a taxi to go back to the hotel. Louis had asked to go with him, but Harry had been insistent on going alone. Niall had said that Harry was just coming down from the alcohol, which they all had just accepted.

Yet the next morning, Harry had been in a _foul_ mood. He’d been quiet and grumpy, barely saying a word except to snap at the rest of them when they asked him what was wrong. He hadn’t smiled at any of their jokes; instead he had a frown which had stayed with him for the whole day. The tension had quickly become stifling. Niall had then suggested that Harry was having a wicked hangover, but that idea had worn thin as morning turned to evening and Harry stayed the same.

They were ahead of schedule, but they’d gone to load-in at the next venue just so they would have something to keep themselves busy; Niall appeared to be retuning his guitar for the third time, while Zayn and Liam were having an unnecessarily loud conversation about Banksy. Louis was pretending to himself that he wasn’t just watching Harry, who seemed determined to experiment with how many ways his mic position could be adjusted.

Apparently he’d exhausted every way though, because no sooner had Louis decided to give up the pretence of the keyboard had Harry pulled his cane out and made his way to the door. Zayn and Liam’s conversation withered out pretty much the second Harry left, and they all just looked at each other.

“Should we…” Zayn said, swallowing. “Um.” Zayn cocked his head towards the instruments and stuck his hands in his pockets, turning to stare at the floor.

Liam sighed. “I’ll go find the proprietor.”

Zayn nodded, and headed over to his bass guitar. When he started putting it into his case, Louis blinked, and glanced over at Niall, who seemed to be gripping onto his own guitar like a lifeline.

Liam was headed towards the back door.

“Wait, what?” Louis said.

“We’re cancelling,” Zayn said, not looking at Louis.

“But, we’ve never cancelled a show,” Louis said.

Liam stopped at the door and turned to face Louis. “We don’t really have a choice. We can’t perform like this. He’s not up to it.”

Louis opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again.

After a moment, Liam shook his head and walked out.

Zayn started packing up Liam’s drums too, as Niall seemed reluctant to move. Niall seemed to be the only one making any sense, but it was no use arguing.

Louis sat there uselessly for a moment, before sighing and getting up. All those times when they’d had a busted instrument, or hangovers, or Harry had been crying, or even _down with sickness_ , they’d still performed. Even if they’d needed a bit of dragging sometimes. But then again, Harry hadn’t really ever been like _this_ before.

As Louis grabbed his coat and headed outside, Zayn was trying to coerce Niall into letting go of his guitar. Louis wasn’t sure where Harry had gone – it was possible that he’d somehow skipped town in the time it’d taken for Louis to follow him – so Louis just started wandering around. Louis became impatient enough with that within about two minutes when Harry didn’t miraculously appear, and instead decided to relentlessly call Harry until he gave in and answered. Yet Harry, the moron that he was, had turned off his phone. Louis stuffed his hands into his coat pockets in frustration, his breath coming in cold puffs in the air.

It was starting to get dark already. The chances of Harry cheering up and getting back for soundcheck were becoming slim; Liam had probably made the right call. Louis didn’t like Harry being out alone when he was feeling like this; whatever ‘this’ was. Louis frowned and tried to think. He sighed as he started walking around again, for a lack of better options.

That was when he spotted it; Brighton Pier. They were starting to turn on the lights already, even though the sun hadn’t even set yet. Louis wasn’t sure why, but he started heading there as fast as he could.

It didn’t take long to find him, after that. Harry was sitting on one of the first benches that Louis came to, wrapped up in a coat, facing out towards the sea. Louis breathed a sigh of relief and walked over.

Harry didn’t acknowledge Louis as he sat down, yet Louis had studied Harry’s movements enough to know that he knew he was there; he shifted and angled himself slightly towards Louis, and Louis knew that Harry didn’t realise he was doing it. Despite this, Louis still sat on the far end of the bench and kept silent. Harry could talk if he wanted to.

The sky was starting to colour with the first pink of sunset. Louis kept having to divert his gaze to keep the sun from hurting his eyes. The seagulls were calling each other while circling the pier, waiting for the inevitable cast-offs for dinner. He ignored the bustle behind them, with people hurrying to prepare the pier to become a beacon in the night. Louis kept his hands in his pockets to avoid the cold, throwing a glance towards Harry’s gloves and wishing he’d thought of that. Louis leaned back on the bench, letting out a small sigh as he watched the waves lazily lap at the stands below. The sea slowly started to shine as more colours infiltrated the sky.

“It’s the way you walk,” Harry said, his voice slightly hoarse.

Louis turned to look at him. Harry’s knees were still angled towards him, though Harry’s face was looking towards to sunset. That frown had finally smoothed out, yet the familiar smile had not yet returned. A kind of serene sadness had settled on his face, as his gloved hand fiddled idly with the bottom of his coat.

“The way I what?” Louis asked.

“Your walk. That’s how I knew it was you.”

Louis laughed. “Probably sounds like the stampeding wildebeest that killed Mufasa.”

“It’s a lot gentler than you’d think,” Harry said quietly.

Louis wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to respond to that, so he didn’t. The glare from the sun was nearly aggressive, but he couldn’t help but stare at the sunset. That familiar, yet always unique, mesh of colour splayed across the sky. Louis had never known what it was that made sunsets so entrancing. It was just day turning to night, light blue becoming a darker blue. Yet somewhere along the line, the sky decided to toss a huge fucking mess of colour into it, and it didn’t have the right to be as beautiful as it was.

Louis didn’t know how long they’d been sitting there. The only way he could measure it was through the colours. Soft pink was becoming purple, and orange was becoming red. It was darker, more striking, yet somehow the same.

“I’ll never see dancing,” Harry said, so softly that Louis wasn’t immediately certain that he’d actually spoken.

Louis turned to look at Harry. Harry chewed on his lip, his head never moving from where it was facing the sky.

“I know what it is, obviously,” Harry continued, a little louder. “I’ve done it. But it was as she was saying.” He sighed. “She’d been dancing at the gig. They all had.”

Louis swallowed as he watched Harry, not knowing what to do. Louis wasn’t even certain that Harry was actually talking to him.          

“I didn’t know they’d been dancing,” Harry said.

Louis pulled his hand out of his pocket, shuffling a little closer to Harry. He watched Harry’s expression carefully; when Harry didn’t wince or move away, Louis moved right next to him and reached out and took Harry’s gloved hand in his bare one.

Harry didn’t say anything, but he interlocked their fingers. “I’m not ungrateful,” he said. “I can hear. I can smell, and touch, and walk, and everything else. And I’m lucky enough to know what dancing _feels_ like. I just.” Harry hesitated, exhaling deeply. “There are things I will never know. Things that will be right in front of me, and I’ll just be completely oblivious.”

The glare of the sun caught Louis’ eye again, and he looked back at the sunset. The sun was disappearing now, shining as brightly as it could before it hid behind the waves and took all the colour with it. Louis’ chest felt weighed down, as his mind swam with useless things he could say, and none of them came out of his mouth. “I know,” he said finally. There was nothing Louis could say except that. No pretending that it wasn’t true. No trite little saying to fix everything. No way to make it better. He stroked his thumb over Harry’s, as Harry tightened his grip on his hand.

Louis moved in even closer, knocking his knee against Harry’s, and resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. Harry leaned his head then, resting his cheek against Louis’ forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Haz,” Louis mumbled.

When Harry sighed, Louis felt it. Louis waited there, with Harry on that bench, for the stars to come out.

 

-

 

Harry always said that the worst things about their journeys were petrol stations.

Louis always said that petrol stations were the salvation of any journey.

Liam always pointedly asked whether they could fit another petrol stop into their schedule while mentioning Telford a few times, Zayn always said that this conversation was always stupid because vehicles _needed_ petrol to _go places_ , so whether they were enticing or not was beside the point, and Niall was usually promo-ing them on Twitter and not paying attention. Louis wondered how he ended up in a band where nobody had any sense of fun, as they started the same conversation yet again.

“It’s the _smell_ ,” Harry said emphatically, gesturing at Louis from the passenger seat. “Don’t you think it stinks?”

“I find the smell rather intoxicating, actually,” Louis said.

“That’s disconcerting,” Zayn said.

“Shut up, you lock yourself in a tiny room with your paints all the time and don’t try to tell me you always completely close your nose,” Louis said, as he pulled in to the nearby station.

“I don’t _inhale_ them.”

“Well, who said I inhale petrol?”

“Can we just get this over with?” Liam asked.

“Please,” Harry agreed.

“No,” Louis said. “I want snacks.”

“We don’t have time,” Liam said, glancing towards Zayn. “Or money.”

“I’m your driver,” Louis said. “I need sustenance. Unless you want me to drive at a snail’s pace because I don’t have the energy to push down the acceleration pedal.”

Liam sighed loudly.

Harry overdramatically clamped his hand over his nose.

Louis smacked at him.

“Anyways,” he said, moving to climb out of the bus. “You’re all complaining now, but I know that twenty miles down the road you’re all gonna be stealing my food. So.”

Liam rolled his eyes at Louis.

Louis raised his eyebrows back.

“Five minutes,” Liam said.

Louis smirked and merrily slammed the door. He took off the hubcaps and was about to start putting petrol in the bus, when he saw Harry rounding the corner.

“I need to wee,” Harry said, without a trace of shame.

“Oh,” Louis said, gloatingly. “ _Now_ who doesn’t want to stop here?”

Harry frowned, lifting his cane and moving swiftly forwards until he poked it right into Louis’ stomach.

“Oi!” Louis said.

Harry just grinned. “Direct me?”

Louis moved to stand next to Harry. “Turn to the right.” Harry moved. “A little left.” Harry shifted again. “A little to the right again. Perfect. Then walk forward, say, nine steps, then turn to your left for about five steps, then left again for about three steps and then you’ll be at the door.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, as he walked off.

Louis still thought that the time he’d spent measuring Harry’s strides against his own had been invaluable, as he kept half an eye and noticed Harry walking seamlessly into the petrol station. With Harry, it wasn’t a matter of not being able to see, it was a matter of how accurate the instructions he’d been given were.

Louis nearly entirely forgot why he was there when he walked into the station and saw _nerf guns_. Shabby handheld foam ones for just a quid. As Louis launched them gleefully onto the counter, he’d actually forgotten why he’d come in, and only remembered when the cashier looked at him sceptically and asked if he was paying for any petrol ‘on top of _that_ ’.

Harry was just getting out of the toilet when Louis had paid for the petrol, a pair of nerf guns, and bought himself (or rather, everyone) multipack knock-off drinks and crisps. Louis thought paying for plastic bags was an absolute rip-off, so he insisted on carrying it all in his arms, which meant that he was having some balance issues and nearly toppled over. He was grateful for once that Harry couldn’t see him; if he could hear the struggling, he kept it to himself, which Louis was also grateful for. He considered telling Harry about the guns, but thought he’d rather surprise him sometime instead.

“I’m getting some fruit,” Harry said.

Louis shuffled the stuff around in his arms. “Sure. I need to get rid of my haul. Catch you back at the bus.”

This was when Louis would usually give Harry a pat on the arm, but he couldn’t free his hands. So instead he tapped Harry’s foot with his own. Harry smiled brightly, and Louis grinned, backing out the station’s door.

When he reached the bus, Louis whacked his elbow into the back passenger door until Zayn opened it and started taking everything out of Louis’ arms.

“Where’s Harry?” Liam asked, the second the door opened.

“On his way, relax.”

“I just asked,” Liam grumbled.

“Are those nerf guns?” Zayn said, cutting off Louis’ retort.

Louis just winked at him, dropping the rest of the snacks into Zayn’s arms. He expected to be chastised but instead Liam and Zayn just grinned mischievously. Louis climbed into the front seat as Liam and Zayn then started to tower the bags of crisps on top of Niall’s head while he tweeted obliviously.

Louis smirked at them as he started setting up the sat nav again, while breaking into one of his sugary knock-offs. Not as bad as it looked. That, or Louis’ taste buds had been ruined by only living off knock-offs for the past eight months.

They hadn’t had an actual show since Brighton. When Louis had first started booking venues, he’d had too much enthusiasm and too few maps, which had left Liam exasperated when trying to make a schedule as it looked like they’d be zig-zagging across the entire country. Liam had then instructed that Louis reschedule to make their route make sense, but York’s venue had been too good for Louis to let go of, leading to an argument because according to Liam they couldn’t get anywhere else to perform that ‘made sense’ on that route. It had taken a lot of pouting until Liam had finally relented. Louis thought maybe they’d take a break and go home. Liam had then unearthed the beast he called ‘Intensive Promo: The Intensive Sequel’, and Louis was finally getting to experience all the fun he’d missed before he’d joined the band. It ended up being a lot of panicking while trying to drive Harry to interviews and photoshoots on time, and pulling over on motorways so Harry could do phone interviews for radio stations while packed in the back of a bus which was probably getting a flat tyre.

This wasn’t the part of the job Louis had any interest in, even when interviewers decided to acknowledge that Harry actually _had a band_ , so he was itching for the next gig, which wasn’t until they reached York.

“Why does York have to be so bloody far away?” Louis whined. “We could’ve done another gig in this time.”

“Hey, you booked it, Tommo,” Liam said defensively. “Don’t blame my schedules.”

“Why do I have to be so bad at geography?” Louis whined.

“Really shouldn’t let you pick the routes.”

“Whatever Payno, you think that Australia is near Japan.”

Liam sighed loudly. “Let that go, it was a slip of the tongue-”

“If we left it to you, you’d probably book us in somewhere in Inverness.”

Louis ignored Liam’s retort in favour of snorting at Harry, who climbed in the passenger door with his pockets bulging full of fruit. He was about to make a joke when he noticed that Harry was frowning.

“Everything alright?”

Harry didn’t say anything, just started emptying the fruit from his pocket onto his lap. He stopped when he pulled out a five pound note.

“This isn’t two fivers, is it? Tell me one’s a tenner,” Harry said, tracing his finger over the ridged number ‘5’, his frown deepening.

“No, it’s two fivers?” Louis said, questioningly.

“I gave him a twenty because that’s all I had,” Harry said.

Louis looked down at the fruit Harry had bought. Louis’ fists clenched on the steering wheel as he scowled. Not again.

“Give me that,” he said.

He held out his hand below Harry’s money and Harry dropped it into his hand, looking confused. The bus door clicked as Louis opened it to climb out.

Harry then seemed to get what was happening. “Lou, really, it’s fine, this happens all the time. Well, it’s not fine, but I’m used to it - forget it, let’s just go-”

Louis turned around, keeping his voice even. “I’ll be back.”

He slammed the driver’s door and stormed back into the petrol station. The door banged when he threw it open, which gave Louis some satisfaction. His knuckles whitened where he clenched the five pound note in his fist. He walked up to the till and smacked the money down on it. The cashier raised his eyebrows at Louis, who just glared back at him.

“So, you thought because my friend can’t see, that you have the fucking right to short-change him? Fancied stealing a little bit of pocket money from a disabled person?”

Realisation dawned on the cashier’s face, and his mouth dropped open slightly. When apologies didn’t start immediately falling out of his mouth, Louis carried on.

“I’ve fucking had it with knobs like you. Bastards who will do whatever they want if they think they can get away with it.”

“Look, I didn’t realise you were with him-” the man said, holding his hands up.

“Oh, no,” Louis said, smirking. “It wasn’t me who caught you out. _He_ was the one who knew what you’d done. Just because he’s blind doesn’t mean he’s a fucking idiot.”

“Well he’s taken his stuff, now, and left, so there’s nothing I can do about tha-”

“Wanna try that again?” Louis said, scowling and leaning across the counter.

“Louis.”

Louis turned around to see that Harry had followed him in. Of course he had.

“Haz, I’m sorting this wanker out.”

“Louis, let’s just go,” Harry said, making his way over to Louis.

“Look,” Louis said, turning back to cashier. “You’re going to give Harry a full refund.”

“No way, he’s got what he wanted.”

“A full refund,” Louis said again, not breaking eye contact.

“Lou,” Harry said again, touching Louis’ arm.

“Look, what if I just give him the rest of his change, that-”

“A. Full. Refund,” Louis said, emphasising each word.

When the cashier did nothing but silently gape at him, Louis pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Don’t mind me, just gonna make a call,” he said, raising his eyebrows and smirking at the cashier.

“Who’re you calling?” the cashier asked nervously.

“You’re gonna find out,” Louis said.

The cashier seemed to freeze.

“It’s dialling,” Louis said, sounding excited.

“Okay, okay, fine, I will give you a full refund!” the cashier exclaimed.

Louis hung up the phone, grinning smugly as he shoved it back into his pocket.

“You will give _Harry_ a full refund,” Louis said.

The cashier nodded, causing Louis to roll his eyes.

“You think he can hear that, mate?” he said disdainfully.

The cashier cleared his throat and turned to Harry. “I will give you, Harry, a full refund,” he said, glancing nervously over at Louis.

“Thank you,” Harry said, exaggeratedly sweetly. “How kind.”

Louis contained his snort, and gave Harry’s hand a squeeze, as the cashier started taking money out of the till.

“Harry,” Louis said. “Check this is the right change.”

Harry started weighing up and feeling the money in his hand as Louis kept his eyes on the cashier. The guy’s face had started to turn white.

“Yeah, it’s right,” Harry said.

“Lovely,” Louis said, drawing out the first syllable. “Then we shall be leaving. Have a _wonderful_ weekend.”

Louis waved overdramatically and gave his most disturbing grin as he started to walk out of the shop. He held the door open for Harry, who’d slowed down. Louis wondered why he was dawdling. Harry then whacked his cane into a shelf, causing pretty much the entire contents of it to fall onto the ground with dull thuds.

“Whoops,” Harry said.

He moved his cane out of the way and ended up hitting a display by the door, making tins either spill open or round along the floor. Harry swung his cane across the floor in front of himself to clear a path to the door.

“Oh dear,” Harry said, smiling pleasantly. “So sorry. Cheerio.”

It was all Louis could do to wait until he was outside the shop to burst out laughing. As soon as Louis had started, Harry started laughing as well. He held his hand out and Louis took it, swinging it as they walked back to the bus.

“You’re such a dick,” he said, still laughing. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“You can talk,” Harry said, smirking. “Who’d you dial anyway?”

Louis grinned. “Stan.”

Harry laughed again as they reached the bus, and Louis was smiling happily. Louis then was nearly pulled down by their hands, as Harry stopped abruptly just as they were reaching Harry’s door. Louis turned to look at Harry in confusion, who was frowning slightly.

“What’s up?” Louis asked.

“Louis,” Harry said. “Thank you for that.”

“You’re wel-” Louis started to say.

“But,” Harry said, cutting him off. He then hesitated.

Louis started to get concerned. He gave Harry’s hand a squeeze and moved a bit closer, waiting for Harry to talk in his own time.

“Don’t…” Harry said, pausing again. “Don’t do that again. Please.”

“Why?”

“I…” Harry said, biting his lip. “I really appreciated – appreciate – it, I do, I really do, but. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

Louis gave a small laugh. “You know me, Harold. I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Harry said, smiling. “But I worry about you.”

Louis laughed again. “Come on, Harry, I’m a big boy.”

“I mean it. I – you – you getting into trouble because of me. I wouldn’t like that.”

Harry started to shuffle his feet. Shit, he was _really_ worried. Louis sighed. He never wanted to stop standing up for Harry. He knew Harry didn’t _need_ his help – Harry’s stunt with his cane was proof enough of that – but Louis hated seeing Harry getting taken advantage of. It happened all the time, whether it was Harry getting short-changed or people stealing from him or making gestures at him, just because they thought he wouldn’t know about it, so there’d be no repercussions. Yet Harry was asking him to not do anything, and Louis couldn’t really turn him down.

“Okay, I promise,” Louis said.

Harry smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Louis gave his hand another squeeze, before getting back into the bus.

 

-

 

“What _the hell_ are you wearing?” Louis asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“Louis!” Liam exclaimed.

Harry just laughed. “I have no fucking idea. But it feels _incredible_.”

Harry was grinning smugly in green corduroy trousers, a purple silk shirt that Harry had either failed or not bothered to button up properly, leopard-print boots, and a fedora that Louis suspected was made of _tweed._ Louis wanted to scream.

This was how Harry always chose clothes. When Louis had first joined the band, he’d soon found out that the rest of the band bought Harry’s stage-clothes for him. When Louis had been sent out after Harry had managed to rip every item he owned, Louis had brought Harry with him, since he figured the clothes were _for_ him anyway. Harry had spent the entire afternoon running his hands over various clothes and rambling about the texture of them more than a fashion student would. Louis found choosing for him impossible then, because Harry obviously knew what he liked, so Louis had just tossed everything he’d picked up aside and told Harry to pick his own. They’d then spent the next hour retracing their steps, as Harry directed him to the ones he’d really liked. Some of the stuff was ridiculous – Louis refused to let him buy the metallic waistcoat because ‘Trust me, Hazza, it looks like it’s made of recycled tin cans’ – but if something looked halfway passable, he bought it. The rest of the lads had been surprised by the haul but went along with it. So what, Harry had started dressing more eccentrically – he was more comfortable for it. This had eventually escalated to Harry shopping for himself, which had extremely mixed results, and sometimes Louis regretted everything. Yet Harry was happier. So.

That didn’t mean Louis wasn’t allowed to tease him though.

“Shit, Harold, can’t you _see_ what you’re wearing?”

“ _Louis._ ”

“No, I swear, it’s almost like I’m _blind_.”

“ _Harry._ ”

“Maybe you should get some _glasses_.”

_“Louis, oh my god.”_

“I knew I should’ve gone for that eye test. They kept writing to me but I didn’t listen.”

“Fuck you both,” Liam said, frustrated.

As Liam shook his head and walked out the door, Louis and Harry both started laughing. Louis wondered how many drumsticks would be thrown at his head on stage that evening.

“Do I really look that impressive?” Harry asked.

“Newcastle’s not gonna know what hit it.”

“I wish I could return the compliment. But you could look like shit for all I know.”

Harry pointedly adjusted his hat, and Louis laughed loudly and unabashedly. Louis grinned when Harry felt for Louis’ arm and patted it as he walked out, while having an expression that seemed to be somewhere between beaming and smirking.

Newcastle’s stage was much smaller than they were used to – Louis thought it was more fit for poetry readings than bands. Aside from the annoyance of being packed in much closer to Liam and his drums than he’d care to be, the main problem was keeping Harry from causing a catastrophe on stage. As soon as they’d piled all of their instruments in some vague Tetris-arrangement, they stood back and all immediately agreed they needed to get Harry on stage before the show started, and keep him in the same spot for the entire thing. Liam was heading off to find out if they could draw the stage curtain, just this once, so Harry wouldn’t be standing there as the audience found their seats.

Louis stood on the side of the stage, Harry holding his arm, and tried to puzzle out the best route. Their combined instruments made a single impassable wall, and the free floor space was covered in a labyrinth of wires. Yet he had no choice.

Louis started to edge towards the front of the stage, watching intently where Harry was putting his feet.

“There’s a big cord there,” Louis was saying. “Lift your feet more…”

Louis wasn’t even really thinking; nothing existed in that brief moment except _Harry’s feet_ and _floor_. Until his own feet suddenly brought attention to themselves.

Louis blinked rapidly, his brow furrowing as the world had started to move very fast and then hadn’t anymore. He should’ve been flat on his back. Yet he hadn’t even really fallen. It took a second for his brain to catch up. He blinked again, as he realised that the arms wrapped around him were Harry’s, his hands gripping Louis’ sides. Louis slowly became aware of his foot being tangled in a wire, before realising his own hands were balled in Harry’s shirt. Louis hated the irony.

“Oops,” Louis said. “Sor-”

“Hi,” Harry said quickly, his tone teasing.

Harry huffed out a laugh, and Louis could feel Harry’s breath on his own face. Dammit. Louis swallowed and forced his mind not to wander. He let out a strained laugh, letting go of Harry’s shirt and taking a step back.

Harry slowly let go of Louis, taking his arm again when Louis held it up to him.

“Well, at least there’s no piss this time,” Louis said.

Harry just hummed in response, a bright smile lighting up his face.

Louis breathed a sigh of relief as he guided Harry to stand in front of the mic stand. Louis swallowed again as Harry started, as usual, running his hands over the stand to find the mic. Louis mumbled something inaudible, unsure himself what he’d meant to say, and dashed off the stage into an unlit and empty backstage corridor.

Louis leaned back against the cold stone wall, trying to steady his breathing. He exhaled deeply before lowering himself to the ground, resting his elbows on his knees and running his hands through his hair.

This was so fucked up. _Louis_ was fucked up. He was supposed to be taking care of Harry. Harry trusted him. Hell, Louis was being fucking _paid_ to support Harry _as a member of his band._ Louis was so far stepping over the line that he was unnervingly close to taking advantage of Harry’s blindness. They’d all think he was sick if they knew. Harry would probably feel violated. Louis may as well have been taking Harry’s trust in him and trampling it.

Louis had tried denying it. He had _really_ tried; it’d been fucking _nine months_. Yet his stupid little crush was still there, smacking him repeatedly in the face whenever Harry smiled for him. He’d tried everything he could, from letting other people walk Harry to stalling in replying to his texts, just to pretend to himself that he didn’t _need_ him. Yet it never lasted, and he was always drawn back in, throwing himself into every interaction with more fervour than before.

It didn’t help that Harry had become as good at reading Louis as Louis was at reading Harry. Harry said it was all about his tone of voice; Harry would pick up the smallest intonation that Louis wouldn’t have even realised he was making. Hell, Harry often knew what Louis was actually _feeling_ before he realised it himself.

Louis should’ve walked away on that first day, when he’d been standing there in Harry’s pee and Harry had beamed at him in a way that was seared into his brain. He should’ve realised this would happen, and that he wouldn’t be able to get himself out of it. Yet even if he had, he probably still would’ve carried on. Louis had always been reckless, but this was one of the few times that he’d adamantly told himself that he’d been an idiot.

Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. That, Louis told himself, was the entire problem. Denial was becoming less and less an option by the day. So, there was nothing left to do but carry on.

Louis hauled himself off the floor as he heard someone calling his name. The curtain was still down on the stage, but Louis could hear the chatter of the audience behind it. Louis steadied himself as he approached Zayn, who was waiting by the stage.

“Bro, you okay?” Zayn asked. “You look a bit pale.”

“What’s it to you? Don’t need colour in my cheeks to play better than you.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Whatever. We might actually put on a decent show if you played as well as me _even once_.”

Louis grinned, holding out his fist to Zayn. “Kill it,” he said.

Zayn smiled and bumped Louis’ fist, before heading back on stage.

Louis followed after him, trying to clear his head.

Liam wasn’t there yet, and Niall had abandoned his post to talk to Harry, who was covering his mic with his hand to keep it from picking up his laughs.

“Sod it,” Louis muttered. He climbed unceremoniously over Liam’s drums, using the stool as a leg-up, landing him right behind Harry.

When Niall noticed Louis, he winked before dashing back to his guitar, which Louis responded to with a scowl.

“Ready, Lou?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, think we’re about there,” Louis said. “Let me peek.”

Louis edged his way around Harry and opened up a tiny gap in the curtain. Small crowd for a small venue, Louis supposed. One of the reasons Louis found bar gigs easier to stomach was the lack of planned seating; empty seats were never an encouraging start.

There was a woman there looking unbelievably sour, but Louis guessed it was due to the guy talking her ear off rather than the upcoming show. Then Louis spotted something that had him breathing out a laugh.

“What?” Harry asked.

Louis closed the curtain again and moved next to Harry. He ignored him and started going through his internal audience-describing dictionary in his head.

“Looks like a lively crowd tonight,” he said.

Harry smiled. “Good,” he said. “But that was your ‘somebody’s-been-an-idiot’ laugh. What’d you see?”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he smiled. “Someone’s made a sign for you. They’ve written on it.”

“Wow, I can’t wait to read it,” Harry deadpanned. “What’s it say?”

“‘Harry, be with me so happily’,” Louis said.

Louis grinned as he saw Harry’s cheeks slowly turn pink, and he uncertainly adjusted his grip on the mic.

Louis hated the way his eyes were drawn to the soft colour. “Good luck,” he said, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he moved away. Louis almost stopped when he felt Harry’s fingers briefly reach up and ghost over his own, but he shook his head and forced himself back over Liam’s drums again before his imagination started kicking in.

Liam launched himself on stage, looking harried. “Open the curtain,” he said. He came to a halt in front of his drums, blinking, as the stage manager came to start the show. “Has someone been standing on my stool?”

Louis said nothing, but started to whistle while admiring the awning. He heard Harry laugh quietly into his mic, and grinned.

By all accounts, it wasn’t one of their better shows. Niall’s guitar didn’t sound like it had been tuned properly, Liam accidentally hit the cymbal too many times, and Harry sang the wrong lyrics. Zayn mouthed to them near the start of the show that one of his strings was threatening to snap, which meant that he played gingerly for the whole set. There was also a paralysing moment where Louis forgot the melody to ‘Stockholm Syndrome’, and didn’t hit his stride until halfway through the song. It always seemed to be that way with them; when one of them messed up, they _all_ messed up. Niall called it ‘great’ because then it was nobody’s fault. Louis said it was actually then the person who’d messed up first’s fault. Zayn usually kicked him.

The audience hadn’t been feeling it since the start, and it wasn’t getting any better. Louis wished the lights were brighter so that he couldn’t see them this time. People were whispering to each other, or tapping on their phones. There were still people there who were enjoying it, and Louis decided to focus on them. They were humming along, mouthing the words, or swaying in their seats. Of course, that girl was waving her sign around; the problem was that she wasn’t in the back, and had a tendency to knock it into people’s heads. She didn’t seem to feel guilty though. Despite making the sign in the first place, Louis liked her.

“I’m about to do something now that’s going to make my poor band sweat a little,” Harry said.

Louis’ head shot up as he nervously stared at the back of Harry’s head.

“Can I have my guitar please?” Harry said, angling himself to face the band.

Louis gaped for a second, until Liam moved to get Harry’s stool, so Louis followed suit to find Harry’s guitar. They’d already played all the songs that Harry would usually play for, and they were only supposed to have ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’ left.

Liam looked accusingly at Louis as he left the stool for Harry to back himself onto. Louis shrugged in confusion back at him. When Harry was settled, Louis lifted the guitar strap over Harry’s head and handed it to him.

“What are you doing?” Louis whispered.

Harry didn’t reply – the bastard. Louis’ normal pat on Harry’s shoulder had a little pinch in it, and Harry deliberately elbowed Louis on his way back to the keyboard, which Louis responded to by stopping and elbowing him back.

“For my last song tonight, I’m going to play a new song I wrote,” Harry said. “And the band haven’t even heard it before.”

Louis noticed that Liam had taken to trying to glare his disapproval into Harry’s brain. Louis decided to join him.

The girl with the sign looked delighted.

Louis glared at her too.

“This song is very personal to me,” Harry continued. “Because it’s about some…thing that I care about a lot. I started writing it two weeks ago, so I haven’t worked out all the tweaks yet. I even changed a lyric this morning, so sorry for the bumps.”

Where were they two weeks ago? Louis could barely remember where they were one week ago. He snuck his phone out of his pocket to peek at his calendar.

“It’s called ‘Something Great’. I hope you enjoy it,” Harry said.

Two weeks ago. Brighton. A lump formed in Louis’ throat and he wasn’t sure why. Yet he felt that he knew what he was going to hear before Harry even started playing.

Louis forced himself to look round at the rest of the band, to see if somehow any of them secretly knew about it. Niall looked baffled, Zayn looked concerned, and Liam looked livid. So, no. That was somewhat comforting, at least.

_‘One day you’ll come in to my world and say it all,’_ Harry sang.

Louis tried to focus on the song, he really did. His hearing seemed to be going in and out, as there was a pounding in his head that seemed to put up a wall in his brain. His throat felt stupidly dry. He didn’t even know why he felt so strange. It wasn’t necessarily panic; no, that sinking in his stomach meant it was dread. It was a while before Louis could calm himself down enough to actually hear a full line of the song.

_‘The script was written and I could not change a thing / I want to rip it all to shreds and start again.’_

Oh, no. No no no.

_‘I want you here with me / Like how I pictured it / So I don’t have to keep imagining.’_

Louis wished he’d heard the full song. Louis wished he hadn’t heard a single line. He was getting ready to climb over the keyboard, cling onto Harry, and never let him go. Thank god he’d played this song last.

_‘Is it too much to ask for something great?’_

It wasn’t that Louis hated being reminded that Harry was blind. That was just a fact. What he hated was being reminded that Harry being blind actually _upset_ Harry. He couldn’t stand the thought that Harry was hurting and there was nothing he could do to help. Harry feeling helpless about it and wanting to start his life over again, Harry wishing he could actually _see_ rather than imagining, Harry just wanting ‘something great’. Of course this was written after Brighton; Louis had never seen Harry so down about his sight before. Louis felt like his stomach was being hollowed out, and his chest felt very heavy.

_‘You’re all I want / So much it’s hurting.’_

Louis frowned in confusion at that final line. Maybe Harry was trying to make the song ambiguous so it was more relatable. Yet Louis knew what it really meant.

Louis was so lost in his own head that he barely noticed the change in the crowd. They had _loved it_. They were more energetic than they’d been all evening, with about half of them standing in their seats and applauding. The girl with the sign was jumping up and down in complete euphoria. She stood out ridiculously in the much more reserved audience, but Louis thought she brought a kind of excitement to it that the place really needed.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “Goodnight.”

Louis couldn’t see Harry’s face, but he could hear that he was pleased. The pounding in Louis’ head had started to ease off.

The curtain hadn’t even fully closed before Louis was jumping hastily over the wires to get to Harry, nearly falling over in the process. Instead of giving Harry a hug, he sort of tumbled into him and just didn’t let go. He heard Harry laugh in his ear as Louis wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck. Louis pressed as close as he could as he felt Harry grip him back.

The sound of a cymbal being knocked into was loud over the fading applause, and Louis figured that the boys were leaving them alone. Louis was selfishly pleased; he wanted to be the one to be there for Harry. Louis tucked his face into the crook of Harry’s neck.

“I’m so sorry,” Louis mumbled.

Louis felt Harry tense in his arms. Louis didn’t like that, so hugged him tighter.

“Sorry about what?” Harry said.

“Your eyesight.”

Harry hesitated. “Oh.”

Louis felt Harry swallow heavily. Harry started to push Louis back, so Louis reluctantly let him go.

Louis frowned as he saw that Harry’s jaw was tensed. Harry swallowed again. He bit his lip, moving his head down so that Louis couldn’t really see.

“Haz?” Louis said, gently touching his arm.

Harry lifted his head, and smiled. It wasn’t the intimate bright smile that Louis knew so well, nor was it the stage smile he gave his audiences when he was struggling. No, it was strained. It seemed like he’d made an actual physical effort to force it onto his face.

“It’s alright,” Harry said. “I understand. I’ll be okay.”

Louis breathed out a sigh of relief, and held his arm out, nudging it lightly into Harry’s.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me walk you.”

“No,” Harry said meekly. “I’d like to use my cane.”

“There’s a lot of wires.”

“Please.”

Louis shouldn’t have felt hurt. It was ridiculous to. He wasn’t sure whether Harry had just been hiding how upset he’d been before, or whether Louis had done something to make it worse. Yet this wasn’t about Louis, and he made himself remember that. Harry probably just wanted to feel like he was in control.

Louis swallowed down his own feelings and stepped carefully over the wires to get the cane from the side of the stage. “Hold your hand out,” he said steadily.

Harry dutifully raised his hand, holding it open and turned upright.

Louis extended the handle into his open palm, not letting go until Harry had firmly gripped it.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Louis recognised a dismissal when he heard one. He sighed, walking to stand just offstage. He silently waited and watched to see Harry get off the stage safely; there were a couple of stumbles, but he was skilled with his cane by then. Louis walked away as quietly as he could, heading out to find the bus.

He passed Liam in the corridor, who was negotiating money with the proprietor. Liam beamed over at him, which Louis found odd, and didn’t have the energy to give him a smile back. Liam then frowned in confusion, which Louis knew even less what to do with.

He had made it just out the back door when he was bombarded by an overexcited Niall. Louis just met the grin and expectant look in Niall’s eyes with a blank look.

“So? How’d it go?” Niall screeched.

Louis opened his mouth and closed it again. This was all very confusing. Maybe he needed to go to bed. Louis knew Niall was waiting for a response, though he didn’t really know what to give him. “Harry needs a bit of space,” he said finally.

Niall then looked as confused as Liam had, and Louis just shook his head. He didn’t have the energy to deal with any of this, whatever it was. He instinctively looked up at the stars but saw no point in counting them.

 

-

 

If Newcastle had been bad, the day after Newcastle was worse. Harry hadn’t resumed his normal position next to Louis in the bus’s passenger seat, choosing to sit in the back and make stupid jokes with Niall for most of the day. Whenever Louis tried to talk to Harry or interact with him in any way whatsoever, Harry seemed to tense up. Louis had put it all down to the feelings that ‘Something Great’ had dragged out of him, yet there Harry was, being happy and relaxed as ever with anyone who _wasn’t_ Louis. It didn’t help that the only other noise was Zayn arguing down the phone on Louis’ behalf because the club for that night had dropped out as well, and he was trying to find somewhere else in the same city so the trip wouldn’t be a waste of time. Liam had decided to join Louis at the front of the bus, which Louis had thought was a lovely thing to do before Liam had started giving Louis significant looks every time he pulled over. Louis couldn’t help it though; he’d never been good at dealing with tension, and he’d always been even worse at dealing with someone being angry at _him_. So, he took the liberty of stopping to take breaks whenever he damn wanted.

This time, Louis threw Liam just as significant a look back, as he climbed out of the bus at a random roadside.

“Bro?” Zayn asked, noticing nothing worth stopping for.

“Just a minute,” Louis said.

“Are you gonna piss in the bushes?” Niall asked, laughing.

“Mind your own,” Louis snapped, shutting the door and cutting Niall off.

He breathed in the cold air and the silence, stretching out his arms because they ached from driving. He knew that they were all probably watching him through the windows though, so he kept his back to the bus. There wasn’t really a whole lot to look at, since he was forced to face the trees. He snapped a leaf off one of the bushes and started idly shredding it, while trying to even out his breathing.

He heard one of the bus doors shut behind him, and he rolled his eyes. He hoped it wasn’t Harry.

“Tommo,” Liam said, coming and standing next to him.

“I don’t give a toss about your schedule,” Louis said. “And if you mention sodding Telford-”

“Neither do I,” Liam said. “Not right this minute, anyway.”

Louis turned to face him then, seeing that Liam was watching him carefully. He cast his eyes down and looked at the leaf he was destroying.

“What’s going on?” Liam asked.

Louis sighed. He started to speak, but then hesitated, watching the shreds of the leaf fall to the ground. “I honestly don’t know,” he said finally.

“Well you and Harry have obviously fallen out about something.”

“If you know so much about it then-”

“Tommo,” Liam said, cutting Louis off. He stared intently at Louis, eyes looking sad.

Louis didn’t like being pitied, so he frowned and turned away. He heard Liam sigh.

“Look,” Louis said, tossing the final leaf shreds onto the ground. “I don’t know what I did, I was trying to help and he’s just gone off on one.”

“Have you tried talking to him?” Liam asked.

“Wow, what a refreshingly original idea.”

“Louis.”

“Yes, we’ve talked. It was talking that got us into this mess.”

“Well, talk some more.”

It was typical, Louis thought; as if the problem was solved. Louis shook his head and said nothing.

“We’re all here for each other, right?” Liam said. “We’re a team. So if you and Harry are going through something, then we’re all going through something.”

“Yeah,” Louis said. “I know.”

“So sort it out,” Liam said, going back to the bus.

Louis sighed as he heard the passenger door shut behind Liam. He stretched his arms once more as he headed back in. Unsurprisingly, he saw Niall watching him in the rear-view window while pretending to be tweeting. He resisted the urge to flip him off.

The rest of the journey was more of the same, except Louis tried to keep his spontaneous stops to a minimum and also tried to drive faster to make up for lost time. Not that it mattered – it was quick after that, because the journey was only supposed to take two and a half hours anyway; Louis was the one who’d unintentionally turned it into a half-day event.

Because Niall and Harry were the only ones talking, the atmosphere was oddly stunted. Zayn temporarily broke it by triumphantly announcing he’d found a pub to host them, and he and Liam launched into spreading it over Twitter, and then went quiet again. Louis missed the noise; he gritted his teeth and loudly turned on the radio to drown out Niall and Harry’s obnoxious joking in the back.

Blackpool always felt strange during the day, like it wasn’t quite done yet. As Louis drove in, he saw Blackpool Tower looming in the distance, seeming more intimidating than anything else. Switched-off strings of lights laced between posts along the pavements and over the dull and empty road. Louis knew that the city came alive at night, and that meant it was dead during the day. Yet somehow it was still swarming with tourists, even then.

The show wasn’t until that evening, so they spent the time checking into their hotel and getting dinner at the cheapest seaside chippy they could find. The rest of the boys made conscious efforts to lift the mood at every opportunity, which Harry happily joined in with if Louis wasn’t directly involving himself. Louis wasn’t sure whether Harry was actually actively ignoring him, or if Harry just felt awkward. Not being able to figure it out frustrated him more than anything else did. Louis ended up just rolling a chip around in vinegar moodily with his fork, while Niall’s lip starting bleeding from biting it too hard.

It wasn’t until they arrived at the bar venue for that night, and Harry laughed at a joke Zayn made, that Louis finally snapped.

“I need to talk to Harry,” he announced.

Louis watched Harry; he looked nervous, but he still turned to follow Louis’ voice. Louis glanced over at the others, who were all either winking or giving him a thumbs-up. Louis nodded at them gratefully as they then busied themselves with unloading the instruments from the bus.

“Follow my footsteps,” Louis said to Harry. “I’ll say if I’m not walking straight.”

Louis walked round the side of the venue, only stopping when he was sure they were out of earshot. He glanced back at Harry a few times to check he was still following him.

“Stopping,” Louis said.

Harry came to an immediate stop just in front of Louis. Part of Louis wished they could go inside for this, since it was freezing this far up north, but he hadn’t wanted to deal with all the ‘hellos’ and official business. Louis also wished they weren’t having this conversation down some back alley, where the only light was flickering and audibly humming. Louis watched Harry’s breathing come out in brief white puffs as he leaned his gloved hand on his cane. Louis sighed as Harry didn’t say anything; Louis had hoped Harry would make this easy, but apparently not.

“Have I done something wrong?” Louis eventually asked.

Louis could see the emotions playing out on Harry’s face as clearly as he could feel the cold; sadness, confusion, frustration, guilt. Harry’s brow was furrowed as he thought hard. If the question took this long to think about, Louis wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer after all.

“No,” Harry said. “You haven’t. I swear.” He then made the most genuine effort at a smile that he’d given Louis since Newcastle, yet it still was strained.

Louis wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or not.

“Then what is it?” he asked.

Harry paused, with all the same emotions playing out on his face again, like some looped silent movie that was too pretentious for Louis to get the meaning of. Then Harry sighed, and a different emotion crossed his face; resolve. He seemed to visibly lighten, and his smile became easier.

“I was just upset, I guess,” he said. “But I don’t want it to mess anything up.”

“Me neither,” Louis said, but he didn’t really know what ‘it’ was.

“I’ll bounce back,” Harry said. “I always do.”

“We can talk, y’know, if you want to?”

“No. It’ll be fine. _I’ll_ be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Harry said evenly.

Harry’s smile was becoming easier and easier, until Louis started to actually believe in it. It still wasn’t as bright as Louis was used to, but he’d take it.

He stepped up to Harry, and put his hand on his shoulder.

Harry’s head shifted at the contact, and his smile became a little brighter.

“I’m always here for you, you know that, right?” Louis asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, his cheeks starting to dimple.

Then Louis stepped forward, and slowly started to wrap his arms around Harry, hesitantly enough that he could move away. Louis hated that he felt nervous, but Harry’s stillness felt so unfamiliar. He started to awkwardly let go when he felt Harry gradually hug him back. He let out a small sigh of relief; if he buried his nose in Harry’s shoulder, then Harry was the only one who’d know about it.

Until Louis remembered that Harry ‘knowing about it’ would be a problem. Louis panicked that he’d shown Harry too much, and let go a little too quickly. He seemed to be in the clear though because Harry was just smiling, brightly and easily. He exhaled deeply, and instinctively tapped Harry’s foot with his own, like he’d done in the petrol station. Harry happily did the same back, and Louis started to feel like he was returning to normal again. For good measure, he smacked Harry on the arm, which Harry returned forcefully as well.

“Eighteen stars,” Louis said, looking up at the night sky.

“Clear night,” Harry said, his smile bright and easy.

“Nah, still cloudy.”

Harry then switched his cane to his other hand, and reached out to find Louis’ arm. Louis quickly nudged forward so Harry could take it.

The two of them made it inside, looking around the bar. It had that intoxicating smell that made you want to drink away your woes, or invent woes to drink away. Louis had always been impressed by how most of these venues had the knack of looking exactly the same as each other; all polished dark wood and bar stools and padded booths. Louis spotted the rest of the lads at the back of the bar, and started to lead Harry over, before they were stopped by someone Louis recognised but couldn’t place.

Until she pulled out a sign. Then Louis knew _exactly_ who she was. She seemed to explode; she started talking so fast that Louis couldn’t make out any actual words. But Harry seemed to keep up just fine. Louis tried to follow the conversation, but only actually heard Harry’s end, because the girl just sounded like she was making noise.

Harry’s hearing had always been a marvel to Louis. Harry said that his other senses were heightened, yet Louis never really noticed it much, except at times like these. The number of words Harry could hear per minute was more than Louis could say in four, and his own gob was something Louis took pride in.

Louis decided to leave them to it, and slowly slipped his arm out of Harry’s grip. Harry smiled in acknowledgement and moved his cane to get a better grip on it.

Louis helped the rest of the band set up for the show, with them all doing the kind of heavy lifting that made Louis wish they could afford to hire a roadie. Louis grumpily wondered if the club would’ve been more exciting. People were obviously there for Harry though, as they milled around the staging area; Louis was relieved that they’d seen Twitter. They finished setting up early and Harry was still talking to that girl, so the four of them decided to sit at the bar and get some drinks for themselves.

“Do you think we’re supposed to play that song?” Niall asked, nursing his pint.

“Which song?” Liam asked.

“Harry’s new one.”

“He hasn’t taught us it,” Zayn said.

“Is he gonna?” Niall asked.

“Probably,” Liam said.

Louis kept quiet. The thought of them playing Harry’s song made him balk; the song seemed so personal to Harry, and only Harry, that the idea of them all joining in felt like a violation. Especially when none of them could _really_ relate to what the song was about.

“It’s so close to the end of the tour though,” Niall continued. “Is there really any point?”

Louis started to choke, and it was all he could do to not spit out his drink across the entire bar.

Zayn slapped him on the back, making Louis cough.

“End of the tour?” Louis said feebly.

“Yeah, we’ve only got a couple of shows left,” Liam said.

“Oh.”

“…You did know that, right?” Liam asked.

As the driver of the tour bus, Louis _had_ to be organised - whether it came naturally to him or not - so he always knew when and where they needed to be. There was a difference though between seeing something typed into a phone calendar and actually thinking about it as an _end_.

“It hadn’t really clicked,” Louis said, taking a drink.

He could feel himself slipping into some sort of emotional mess before he heard Harry call his name, and he shot out of his seat in an instant. Harry had made his way to the back of the bar, and he was beaming.

“What’s got you so happy then?” Louis asked when he reached Harry.

“Her sign was in braille,” Harry said triumphantly. “I could read it.”

Louis’ eyebrows rose in surprise, as a grin broke over his face. “That’s wicked!” he said.

“She’s partially sighted,” Harry said excitedly. “But she got her mum to write on it so that someone else would read it and tell me about it, because she wasn’t sure she would actually get talking to me.”

“Haz, that’s really brilliant!”

“Yeah,” Harry said. Harry then paused for a moment. “It’s nice to know when you’ve really made an impact on someone. When you’ve given someone hope. It makes it all worth it.”

Louis smiled softly. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just traced his fingers down Harry’s wrist before giving his hand a slight squeeze. Harry’s smile turned a little shyer as he squeezed back, and Louis felt a dull ache in his chest that he desperately didn’t want to acknowledge.

The show was a distinct improvement on Newcastle. It wasn’t perfect, but Louis honestly doubted that the perfect show existed. They all managed to miss some notes, but Louis reckoned that they only noticed because they were so attuned with the way the songs were _meant_ to sound, and didn’t think the crowd really noticed. Except for maybe the girl with the sign, who Louis suspected had been to more of their shows than he’d realised. Harry didn’t end up singing his new song again, but none of them mentioned it. The major interruptions were Niall’s multiple toilet breaks from his pre-show drinking, which Harry was all too happy to fill with anecdotes and jokes that the audience seemed to enjoy. The audience were completely relaxed and content, laughing and singing along. There weren’t a large number of them – Louis wondered whether some people had not realised and gone to the club – but the less pressurised atmosphere was a welcome respite after Newcastle. Louis, in a way, felt like he could breathe easily again.

At the end, the rest of the band then naturally gravitated to the bar to sit together, smiling as Harry joined in on drinking songs with the crowd. Zayn scribbled on his budget sheet as they ordered the cheapest pints they could, which usually kicked in all the wrong ways.

“So, post-show tally,” Niall said, pulling out a worn and scrunched up piece of paper from his pocket. “Harry danced around too much and got himself head-rush, that‘s one drink. Three people stared at Zayn for over a minute, that’s three drinks. Harry told about three _really_ stupid jokes, that’s three drinks. People actually laughed, that’s _six_ drinks. I freestyled the riff on Broken Hearts, that’s one drink-”

“I still don’t think we should have that because you do it _just so_ you can tally it-” Liam said.

“-I had to have four piss stops, that’s four drinks-”

“Since when has _that_ been a category?” Zayn said.

“-People danced to the upbeat songs, that’s one drink. Somebody raised their lighter during ‘Night Changes’, that’s one drink. The barman told them to put it away, another drink. Tommo used Harry’s guitar as an excuse to touch him, that’s one drink-”

Louis coughed violently.

“Payno, did you give Tommo a death glare?” Niall asked, smirking at Louis.

“Not tonight,” Liam said.

“Bad times; no drinks. So, Harry missed the high note on the song he wrote for himself, one drink. Zayn made a mistake sound deliberate, one dr-”

“I did that twice,” Zayn pointed out.

“Sick, two drinks. I think that might be us.”

“What about when Tommo waved his arms around to get people to make noise to make Harry happy?” Liam said.

Niall winked and raised his drink. “One drink.”

“I think you’ve added a few new ones,” Louis grumbled.

“Maybe they’re new, maybe we do them in your honour,” Niall said, winking.

“So how many’s that total?” Liam asked.

“Like, eighteen?” Louis guessed.

“Twenty-six,” Zayn said.

“Whatever. I still say we need to get rid of some of those,” Louis said.

“Lightweight,” Niall said, winking. “Drink up, lads.”

Niall raised his pint in a toast, and they all clinked their glasses together before each taking a drink. Niall was the only one who didn’t make a deliberate effort to only take small sips.

Louis stopped when a man sat himself down next to him, bumping him with his elbow and accidentally making him knock his drink.

“You’re the band, right?” the man said empathically. “The blind guy’s backing band?”

“Um,” Louis said, frowning a little.

“That’s us,” Liam said evenly. “What can we do for you?”

The guy smiled in a way that irritated Louis, and he had to physically hold himself back from saying ‘he has _a name_ and it’s on the fucking banner’.

“I just wanted to say that I really admire you all,” the man said.

“Thank you,” Liam said.

“You like our playing?” Niall asked.

“No, I mean I think what you’re doing is really courageous,” he continued. “Taking on the burden of supporting someone who’s blind.”

“‘Burden’,” Louis repeated under his breath.

Zayn put his hand on Louis’ arm under the table.

“It’s really generous of you all, and I’d like to reward that,” the man continued. “Can I offer you all a drink?”

“We’re set, thanks,” Zayn said, his tone cold.

The man hesitated, eyeing each of them in turn. He flinched when they did nothing but stare back at him. He then scowled at them.

“You don’t have to get all huffy about it,” the man said. “I was offering you free drinks.”

“We’d rather pay, quite frankly,” Louis said. He narrowed his eyes as he held eye contact with the man. “I think you’re done.”

The man stared at Louis for another moment, before turning to look at the rest of them. When nobody said anything, the man rolled his eyes and stormed away.

“Someone’s unintentionally a tool?” Liam said to Niall.

Niall’s jaw was set, as he stared at the table and clenched his pint a little too tightly.

“One drink,” Niall said.

Louis sighed. The people who said that shit like that always _meant well_ , and they genuinely thought they’d appreciate the recognition. Louis had always figured that being thought of as a saint would be more fun.

By the time they’d gotten through the post-show drinking game, and then progressed onto _actual_ drinking, they were all feeling a bit tipsy. They didn’t even notice the taste after a while. When Louis looked over, he could tell Harry was pretty buzzed too, but probably hadn’t drunk all that much - he was so enthusiastic that everybody just assumed he was well on his way to being hammered. He came over and dragged the rest of the band to join them all, and Louis felt really content. At least two people in the crowd were singing at any time, and some people were dancing, and Harry was using his cane to just wander about and chat to people. Louis was lazily leaning against the bar, his eye often wandering over to Harry and seeing him with someone new every time he spotted him. Louis’ mind was hazy, and he was happy to lose everything in the noise.

“Um, can I have that back?”

Louis looked up when he heard Harry’s voice. Harry was standing dead still, his arms held out slightly as if he were trying to balance himself. Louis blinked in confusion, until he saw some random guy walking off holding Harry’s cane.

Louis was over at Harry’s side in a second. He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry seemed to relax slightly, but he still looked a little panicked.

“Haz, are you okay?”

“He just took it off me,” Harry said. “I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm-”

“Hey,” Louis called. “The fuckwit with the cane.”

The guy turned and stopped swinging Harry’s cane around. He started to walk back over to him. The guy was obviously drunk, not able to keep going in a straight line. Louis considered charging over to him to get the cane back faster, but he didn’t want to leave Harry alone. While he waited, he started running over in his head all the abuse he was going to throw at the guy.

“Louis,” Harry said warningly.

Louis stopped. He blinked uselessly at Harry for a moment, before he remembered the petrol station; Harry had asked him to not get into trouble for him. Damn. Louis considered ignoring his orders entirely, before he remembered that he and Harry had only been on good terms again for a few hours. Also that the tour was going to end. Also that Louis was fond enough of Harry to just do as he was asked. He sighed pointedly though, which Harry gave a small smile at when he heard it.

“We was just havin’ a bit of fun,” the man slurred, finally reaching them.

“Okay. Give it back,” Louis said, trying to copy Liam’s even voice when dealing with people like this.

“Relax!” said the guy, laughing. He gave Harry a slap on the back, which was strong enough that Louis had to tighten his grip on Harry’s shoulder to keep him from falling. “It’s just a stick, ain’t it? He don’t need it when he’s got us. Here, come have a drink.”

“Sure, just give me my ca-” Harry started to say, before the man drunkenly grabbed at his arm. Before Louis had time to react, he was pulling Harry forward. Harry’s eyes widened in panic at not knowing what was happening, and Louis snapped. Fuck what Harry said, Louis needed to stop the guy.

“Oi!” he shouted. Louis stood in front of the man to get him to stop. “Don’t be a prick.”

“Eh?” the man said.

“Please can I have my cane back?” Harry asked. “I’ll come drink with you, I’d just rather walk myself.”

The man’s brain finally seemed to catch up through the haze of alcohol, as he handed Harry his cane back and mumbled an apology. Harry visibly relaxed and smiled once he had his cane, tapping it on the floor around him to see if anything was in his way.

The man turned to walk back to his table, before he stumbled backwards. The man turned, and Louis saw the guy’s eye start to swell. Louis looked to see who had punched him, and he gaped. Liam standing was there, panting and scowling, with his fist clenched and still raised in the air. The guy started shouting obscenities, and Liam just seemed to get angrier.

“Louis?” Harry asked, alarmed. Harry turned to follow the sound and faced Liam exactly.

“Liam,” Louis said, in awe. “Liam punched him.”

“Liam,” Harry said, sternly. “He said he’s sorry. I’m fine. Leave him alone.”

Liam turned to look at Harry, still breathing heavily and his cheeks bright red. He seemed to stop completely, paralysed in a second, staring at Harry. Then he slowly started to wake up again, as he swallowed. He looked at the guy, then back at Harry again, and shook his head in frustration. Then he threw up his hands in front of him and walked away.

“Liam?” Harry called, walking towards him.

Liam hesitated, before opening the door and stepping outside.

Louis walked after Harry, who’d stopped as soon he’d heard the door close. Louis put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“Hope he’s alright,” Harry said.

“Are _you_ okay?” Louis asked, frowning.

Harry smiled meekly. “Yeah. I should really go for that drink now. Since, y’know, it’s kind of my fault that that guy’s going to get a black eye.”

“It’s not your fault,” Louis said.

“Isn’t it?” Harry said.

“Anyone’s fault but yours,” Louis said.

Harry clearly didn’t believe him, just sticking out his cane and walking towards the guy’s table. Louis stood there uselessly for a moment, before heading outside.

He found Liam sitting on the ground near the bus, with his back to the wall. Louis lowered himself to sit beside him, feeling the cold from the stony ground instantly. Liam leaned his head back against the brick, looking at the sky, and Louis copied him. Since the Blackpool lights had been turned on, the stars had become so obscured by the coloured haze that Louis could barely tell if they were still there.

“Well, that was rather unexpected,” Louis said finally, breaking the silence.

Liam closed his eyes for a moment, and then slowly shook his head and sighed. “Or, a long time coming,” he said.

When Liam opened his eyes and turned his head to face Louis, Louis raised his eyebrows questioningly at him.

“Not all of us can let our anger out whenever we like, Tommo,” Liam said.

“Harry’s asked me to hold back.”

Liam laughed, shaking his head again. “Good luck with _that_ ,” he said. “Though, it explains why you weren’t all over that guy.”

Louis grinned, looking back at the sky. He watched the purple lights on Blackpool Tower in the distance, running up and down in some weird Mexican Wave. He pushed his hands into his jacket pockets to keep them warm, trying to keep himself from shivering.

“He looked right at me,” Liam mumbled.

“Who did?”

“Harry.”

Louis turned to look at Liam. Liam’s eyes were drooping slightly, as his hand slowly clenched and unclenched a few times.

“I swear he looked right at me,” Liam said.

“He followed the sound and faced you,” Louis said. “He’s good with noise.”

Liam turned his face away from Louis, and didn’t say anything.

Louis exhaled deeply, watching the small clouds of warm breath come out before him as he waited for Liam to continue.

“Sometimes, I almost think he can see me,” Liam said. “When we’re just hanging out, it’s like there’s nothing different at all, and I forget. Then he faces me and I just think, he’s looking at me. He can see me.”

Liam turned back to look at Louis, and Louis wanted to ignore him. He couldn’t see any good coming from this conversation, but Liam seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Louis hesitated, before shaking his head.

“But he can’t,” Louis said. “And he won’t. Ever. So it’s pointless to think otherwise.”

Liam looked down at his hands.

Louis closed his eyes as he leant back, as the cold started to prickle his face.

“How do you do it?” Liam asked quietly.

“How do I do what?” Louis asked.

“Just, accept it all. Don’t you find it hard?”

Louis opened his eyes, and thought for a moment. Liam seemed to be watching him carefully. Louis sighed and looked at him. “Of course, sometimes, it can be harder than if he could see, yeah. But it’s second nature now. I don’t think of it being easy or hard; it is what it is.”

“But you fell straight into it,” Liam said. “We all needed to adjust. You just kinda, I don’t know, started _doing_ it.”

Louis hesitated again. Liam seemed to be looking for something, some concession from Louis that yes, Harry’s being blind was something he struggled with. Yet Louis couldn’t give it to him.

“I guess it’s because I’ve never seen it as that big a deal,” he said finally. “He can do everything that everyone else can do. He just can’t see. That’s it. You just change your habits and then you’re set.”

“You say that like it’s easy,” Liam said.

Louis had never thought that anything he’d done was abnormal, honestly. Maybe he should’ve been going through hell, and maybe he should’ve been having difficulties with all the stuff he now considered routine. It was just Harry, though. Harry had never been something Louis had found difficult.

“It is,” he said simply.

“Don’t you wish he could see?”

“That’s nothing to do with me.”

Brighton. Harry’s new song. Louis thought about that for a minute. Did Harry _want_ to be able to see? Did _Louis_ want him to see? Louis tried to imagine it: Harry spotting him across a room and waving; Harry making fun of him when his hair was messed up in the wind; Harry meeting his eyes when he talked. It seemed like another life that he couldn’t comprehend. What he did know was that he’d be screwed if Harry could see the amount that he looked at him. Louis watched the neon lights flicker and change, and felt ridiculous. Harry couldn’t see and that was that - whether Louis wanted him to or not didn’t matter. What did matter to Louis, though, was _Harry_.

“I’d want Harry to see if it’d make him happy,” Louis decided finally, sighing. “But I’m not sure it would.”

“Why not?” Liam asked.

“Harry has his ups and downs, yeah. There’s some stuff he misses out on, sure,” Louis said.

Louis looked up at the night sky again, and swallowed. He noticed Liam following his gaze as if it held some grand answers, and Louis shook his head.

“Sometimes he gets upset about it,” he continued. “But there’s stuff _everyone_ misses out on, and he experiences just as much as we all do. He kinda lives life even _more_. I want Harry to be happy, and to have whatever he wants, yeah. But if I said I wished he could see, I’d be saying he needs fixing. And he doesn’t. Harry knows that.”

Louis glanced over and saw that Liam was watching him intently. Louis sighed as he continued. “I’m not sure _seeing_ would help him any, really. It’d probably be a let-down. So yeah, he has his bumps, but they’re really rare. He’s kinda happy enough as he is.”

Louis turned to face Liam, and shrugged. “Besides,” he said. “There’s no point wishing for something that’ll never happen.”

Liam didn’t react for a moment, until eventually he nodded. Louis wondered if Liam was still tipsy, or if he’d been sobered up like Louis had.

“Or that’s what I used to think, anyway,” Louis muttered.

“What changed?” Liam asked.

“His new song.”

Liam was silent for a long moment, frowning heavily as he tried to piece it together.

Louis swallowed. He didn’t want the song to change anything, and it didn’t, not really. He had always just _known_ that Harry was happy, whether he could see or not. Even Brighton hadn’t changed that perception of him, because Louis knew that everyone got down sometimes. This song was the first time he’d really questioned it. Of course Harry could still be a happy person if he got sad sometimes. The two things weren’t exclusive. Louis was just worried, he guessed.

“Wait,” Liam said. “You think ‘Something Great’ is about Harry’s eyesight?”

Then it was Louis’ turn to be confused.

“Don’t you?” Louis asked.

Liam was looking at Louis as if he’d said something ridiculous. Louis responded by elbowing him. Liam protested and elbowed him back. So Louis elbowed him again, until it ended up being some sort of absurd battle.

“What’re you _doing_?” a voice asked.

Louis then spotted Zayn, Harry and Niall hobbling up to them, each at varying stages of drunkenness. Niall seemed to be using Harry as a pole to lean on, draping his arm over Harry’s shoulders, as Zayn in turn supported Harry. Louis grinned and stood up, nearly falling as he felt Liam grab his arm to pull himself up with.

Louis couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction as Harry immediately reached out and latched onto Louis when he got close.

“Stars?” Harry slurred. His normal ease of walking was completely lost, and Louis wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist to keep him steady. Harry leaned into him heavily, which made Louis nearly stumble himself because Harry was ridiculously tall. Louis usually would’ve complained, but he decided it’d wait, as Harry’s head lolled into Louis’ shoulder.

“Can’t see any, love,” Louis said, stroking softly where his hand rested on Harry’s waist.

Harry made an unintelligible noise that sounded somewhat disappointed, and Louis laughed.

 

-

 

When Louis had been a kid, he’d thought hotels were amazing. They were all long corridors, huge beds, and getting to order whatever you wanted for breakfast. Now that he was older, hotels were still long corridors, but the beds all seemed to be the same and he tended more to order something fast and cheap and moving on. It hadn’t taken long for the novelty to wear off, and he then felt more at home in an unfamiliar hotel room than his own place.

Louis almost felt odd about referring to it as ‘his place’, because he’d barely seen it in nearly a year. It wasn’t like Louis really spent much time in hotels either though. His only requirement when picking ones had been that they had windows (Luton had been bleak).

They usually paid a budget price for maybe two rooms in some bargain place they could afford, so hanging out had never seemed that enticing. Also they usually had somewhere to explore, to drive to, or to escort Harry to if he was going to perform at one of his interviews and needed back-up.

So for Louis to be actually sitting in a hotel room and actually feeling awake, as he was then, was rare. It was also bizarre to have a room of his own. He didn’t really know what to do with himself. They hadn’t had a show that day, but they’d come anyway because they had to travel all the way from Manchester to Bristol and wanted to be well-rested for their last show. Since tomorrow was their final gig, they’d shelled out a bit more on a swankier place; not that it did much more than the cheaper places had done. Toilet, bed, TV. All that Louis really noted was that these rooms came with nice biscuits.

Louis was feeling too restless to appreciate it though, instead pacing and glancing out at the night sky through the window. He supposed he could go to sleep, but he didn’t really feel that tired. It’d been so long since he’d actually had the time to watch TV that he now struggled to sit still for even an hour. Louis sighed petulantly, grabbed his key card, and headed out into the hallway.

“Harry? Haz? Hazza?” Louis called, pounding on his door. “You awake?”

Louis waited as he heard a brief scuffling from inside the room, before Harry pulled the door open.

“You know,” Harry said. “Even if I’d been asleep, you would’ve woken me up, so of course I’m awake.”

“Excellent,” Louis said, inviting himself into the room.

As Louis had suspected, Harry’s room looked exactly the same as his. Except.

“You’ve got a mini-bar,” Louis announced.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Zayn said I could have one drink since it’s the last night-”

“I don’t have a mini-bar.”

Harry stammered half-hearted protests as Louis threw the small fridge open, rattling the bottles as he heaved them all into his arms.

“Honestly,” Louis said. “It’s like they don’t trust me.”

Louis lowered himself onto the floor, spreading out his spoils on the floor before him. He picked one at random, leaning back against the foot of Harry’s bed and grinning smugly. This would make things more interesting, he thought. He directed Harry, who used his cane to sit himself down next to Louis. Louis saw Harry’s jaw twitch slightly with nerves, so he stuffed a bottle into Harry’s hand.

A smirk then grew on Harry’s face. “Last night?”

Louis grinned, and tapped Harry’s bottle with his in a toast. “Anchors away.”

Louis felt a little more settled as they drank their way through the bottles, sometimes rolling one into Harry’s thigh, which made Harry smile. When he finally felt completely relaxed, he pulled himself up and headed to the window.

“Hazza,” Louis said, grinning as he looked out. “Sixty-two stars.”

“Wow,” Harry said breathily.

Louis stayed still for a moment, elbows propped on the windowsill, silently looking at the stars breaking their shine through the few scattered clouds. He hadn’t seen such a clear night in so long. When he turned back to the room, he saw that Harry was smiling contentedly. Louis wasn’t sure whether it was because of the drink or the stars, but he figured it was the latter, which made him frown.

As Louis sat back down, Harry was idly fidgeting with an empty bottle. Louis watched the movement of Harry’s thumb for a moment while trying to think.

When Louis didn’t speak, Harry gripped the bottle tight. He reached a hand out and found Louis’ sleeve, tugging it slightly.

Louis then realised that Harry was checking that he was still there. Louis shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of the stupor he’d started to slip into. He saw Harry start to relax again, but he had a small frown on his face still.

“Lou?” Harry asked.

“Why do you always want me to count the stars?” Louis asked finally.

Harry started playing with the empty bottle again as he thought.

Louis had always been puzzled by it; it’d started when Louis and Zayn had tipsily argued over the number of stars they could see as they’d all sat in the back of the tour bus, trailing off into a drinking game. Louis had then started falling asleep hours later on the leather seats, along with the other lads, until he heard Harry quietly ask him how many stars there were then. Louis forced himself up to look just because Harry had sounded so earnest. After that, Harry had asked Louis how many there were every night, until Louis started telling him automatically. It wasn’t like the stars played into any of Harry’s senses, but just knowing seemed to make him happy, so Louis just went along with it.

Harry hesitated before speaking. “Just because I can’t see them, or touch them, or smell them, or anything, doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

Louis waited for Harry to continue, but he didn’t, instead just leaning his head back against the foot of the bed and letting the bottle roll softly to the floor.

“I don’t get it,” Louis said.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Harry didn’t sound sad, or disappointed, or angry; he just stated it as a fact.

Louis didn’t know what more to say, so he reached his hand over and started idly playing with Harry’s curls. He watched a small lazy smile grow on Harry’s face, as he made his strokes softer. “Are you gonna start purring?” he said teasingly.

“I might,” Harry said, sounding dozy.

Louis smiled gently, watching Harry’s face. All his features were smoothed out in total relaxation. He bit his lip as his eyes wandered to Harry’s jaw, and he thought about what it’d be like if he touched it again.

“Purr purr,” Harry said monotonously.

Louis startled out a laugh as Harry grinned happily. “You tit,” he said, kicking at Harry’s ankle, and Harry kicked back, laughing.

Louis was about to grab a pillow to hit him with, when he was struck with inspiration and jumped up to dash out of the room. Harry was still calling after him when Louis got back, and fired a nerf gun right at Harry’s chest.

“Oi!” Harry said. “What was that for?”

“Arm yourself.”

Louis tossed Harry the other gun, and Harry grinned as he felt what it was. Louis gave Harry a moment to load up, but a bullet caught him off-guard and he yelped as Harry laughed. Fucking sadist.

“First to ten hits,” Harry announced.

Louis then threw himself into the battle, getting hit and missing Harry more times than he’d care to acknowledge. This wasn’t Louis and Harry’s first nerf gun war, and Louis always found it frustrating how good a shot Harry was; Harry often teased that Louis was so loud so Harry always knew where he was, which Louis accepted was probably true. Still, it couldn’t fully account for that Louis could actually _see_ and he was _losing_ , nine to six. That was until one of Louis’ shots hit Harry in the ankle, and he fell ungracefully behind the bed, banging into the floor.

Louis, for his part, started laughing hysterically.

“Oops,” Louis said, in-between laughs. He rolled himself over to the edge of the bed. He had just leaned over the edge when he blinked in surprise as he felt a bullet smack him in the shoulder. He looked down to see Harry’s gun pointed at him, and Harry smirking at him triumphantly.   

“Hi,” Harry said. “And that’s ten.”

“You’re a rotten cheat,” Louis said.

Harry was crawling to sit back where he’d been before, so Louis slipped off the end of the bed to join him. If Louis moved to sit closer this time, Louis was the only one who had to know about it. Except for that Louis noticed Harry’s smile twitch, so he’d obviously noticed. Louis gulped as he wondered how many other times Harry had actually noticed when he’d been trying to be subtle.

“Thank you,” Harry said.

Louis looked at him for a moment in confusion. “Sure?” he said.

“Everyone else treats me like I’m going to break.”

_Oh_. Louis stilled for a moment, watching the laugh lines by Harry’s eyes disappear and a frown start to settle on his forehead. Louis opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, and scooted in right next to Harry.

“Well, you’re obviously not,” Louis said. “I mean, I reckon you’re fitter than I am.”

Harry smiled slightly. “My arm’s not _that_ much bigger than yours, really.”

“Yeah it is.”

“You’re forgetting I’ve _felt_ your arm. I _know_ ,” Harry said teasingly.

Louis gave a small laugh. “Still. Your arms are big enough to tell me that you’re not gonna break.”

“But my arms have never been the problem.” Harry sighed.

Louis chewed on his lip, frowning slightly. He knocked their knees together again.

“You know,” Harry said. “You’ve never once asked me why I’m blind.”

Seeing as this was something Louis himself had done, this shouldn’t have been a revelation to him. Yet it was. The thought of asking the question had never really crossed his mind. Had Harry always been blind? Had he been able to see once? Yes, Louis had idly wondered about it a few times, but not long enough to actually _ask_. Louis then wondered if he _should have_ , and started to panic slightly. Maybe Harry thought he was heartless. Maybe Harry thought he didn’t care. Maybe Harry had been wanting to talk about it the whole time.

“It’s not that I’m not interested, I _am_ , do you wanna tell me-” Louis said quickly.

“Lou,” Harry said, interrupting him. “I’m not asking you to ask me.” Harry sighed. “I’m asking you why you’re different.”

“Why I’m...” Louis said, trailing off. “What, did everyone else ask you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I mean, it’s fine to ask. I don’t mind at all. And I’d rather people _did_ than just sit there stewing on it. But other people walk me around really slowly, and you walk me however fast you want to walk. You’d hit me with a pillow when other people think I’ll break if they so much as touch me. You take the piss out of me when other people are terrified of offending me.”

“Not painting me in the best light, here,” Louis said.

“No, I am,” Harry said, growing frustrated. “What I mean is, you focus on what I _can_ do. All anyone else does is focus on I _can’t_ do.”

Louis sat there in silence for a moment, unsure of what he was supposed to say.

“What I’m asking you,” Harry repeated. “Is why you’re different?”

Louis found himself second-guessing his own actions for the second time that week. He thought back to Blackpool; sitting outside the bar with Liam, and being asked, ‘ _How do you do it?’_ Louis didn’t know why he was suddenly being asked all these questions, but what he knew even less was why he was having such difficulty answering them. Things were the way things were; that’s how Louis usually operated. Harry though was honestly asking him a question, as Liam had been, so Louis swallowed and tried to put into words what he barely understood himself.

“I guess it’s because,” Louis said, then hesitated. “I’ve never seen you as ‘that blind one who’s called Harry’. I’ve always seen you as ‘Harry, who happens to be blind’. That’s it, I think.”

Out of sheer uncertainty, Louis grabbed another bottle from the floor at random and downed it. Damn, that stung. Louis had no idea what Harry had been looking for him to say, and for once, the look on his face was telling Louis absolutely nothing. Louis hoped he’d said enough, or, not said too much. Louis tried to push down his own internal crisis and wished that Harry would just say _something_.

“You never saw me as just a job, did you?” Harry said.

Louis took it back; he wished that Harry would just say something that _wouldn’t_ confuse him.

“What do you mean?” Louis asked.

“That’s what I thought, for a while,” Harry said. “In Newcastle.”

Louis started to look in concern for signs that Harry had somehow gotten completely drunk from the mini-bar without Louis’ noticing.

“You’d always been, I don’t know,” Harry said, hesitating. “More attentive, I guess. You always wanted to walk me everywhere, and talked to me all the time, even when we weren’t actually around each other, and you seemed like you...” Harry trailed off, swallowing.

Louis felt ridiculously exposed and vulnerable, and started to subconsciously squirm. He was surrounded by alcohol, but all he wanted was water for his suddenly dry throat. When Louis didn’t say anything, Harry carried on.

“But then Newcastle happened. And I just wondered how I could’ve gotten it so wrong, because I thought, but _actually_...”

Harry seemed to be hoping that Louis would know what he was talking about, but Louis was listening to Harry helplessly. Louis both wanted Harry to _stop_ and was intrigued to learn what had really been going on in Newcastle to cause Harry to freeze him out like that.

“I figured that you just thought of me as a job. That you didn’t really care at all; you just did all that because you were paid to. I was just another task.”

“I do not!” Louis protested.

Louis was completely baffled. All Louis could remember doing was going over to Harry after he’d sung his new song, and giving him a hug. Louis had been trying to replay the whole scene since it had happened, but he’d never been able to figure it out. Since Harry had moved on, though, Louis had happily done the same. Now they were back here again, and Harry wasn’t talking any sense.

“Why the hell would you think that?” Louis asked.

Louis was trying as hard as he could to read Harry’s expression, but what he saw was making about as much sense as his words were; sadness, guilt, and _defeat_. Louis hated it, but he didn’t know how to fix it.

Harry though started to look just as confused as Louis was. He also looked a little bit hurt. Louis was feeling even more lost.

“Because you rejected me,” Harry said bluntly.

Louis’ mouth dropped open. Harry had said that as if it was ridiculously obvious, and his frown had deepened, as Louis just sat there gaping in silence.

“I’m not blaming you,” Harry said, talking annoyingly fast. “I never have. I mean, it’s one thing helping me out, but it’s something else entirely to actually want to be with me, I mean, it would be really hard I’m sure and I’d never judge anyone for wanting it to be easy, but you always made me feel like it _was_ easy for you, and that you didn’t pity me, which is why I _hoped_ , but if I’m just somebody you take care of, but not _have feelings for_ , then that’s fine, I never wanted to make you feel like you _had_ to like me back just because I was blind, but you didn’t, so that’s fine too, but we never talked about it and tomorrow’s the last show and I might not see you again so I wanted to clear the air, you know? But you know all this already so I’m really just wasting our ti-”

“Harry,” Louis said. “I knew _none_ of this. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Harry then completed stilled, his eyebrows raising and lips parting slightly in surprise.

“But you rejected me,” Harry said.

Louis had been making such an effort to keep up with the words Harry had been saying that hadn’t at all comprehended what Harry had been _saying_. When he tried, it felt like too much to take in. They were just words that he couldn’t put together to make them mean anything.

“When did I reject you?” he asked, holding onto the same sentence that Harry seemed to be.

“After ‘Something Great’,” Harry said, his voice slowing as if he were concerned about Louis’ intelligence.

Louis still had no idea what had happened that day. Yet he knew enough to know that was wrong.

“Bullshit, no I didn’t.”

“Yes you did,” Harry said, voice growing uncertain.

“No, I just told you that I understood what your song was about.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“You said you were ‘sorry’.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“So, you rejected me.”

“I’m so confused.”

Harry looked like he was torn between wanting to hit Louis or ask him whether he was feeling alright in the head.

“I sang my song to you and then you said you were sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Harry’s frown deepened as he got more frustrated. Louis thought it was endearing, but scolded himself for getting distracted when he wasn’t even keeping up in the first place. Harry then paused, seeming to be thinking something through.

“Hold on,” he said. “What did you think my song was about?”

“Your eyesight,” Louis said triumphantly.

“My eyesight,” Harry repeated slowly.

“Yes,” Louis said. “None of the others seemed to get it.”

Harry’s expression completely changed then to one of surprise, then to slight panic. He bit his lip and started to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “Lou,” he said quietly. “Everyone else got it _except_ you.”

“Oh.” Louis deflated slightly, having been proud that he’d figured the song out. It took a moment for his brain to catch up. “Wait, so what _was_ the song about?”

“Um,” Harry said, stammering. “I don’t want to say.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck and turned his face away from Louis.

Louis frowned; he hated the idea that everyone else was in on something he wasn’t, especially when it was about _Harry_ , the person he was closest to. Hell, they were together day in day out - Louis had no idea how Harry had found the time to make a secret to keep from him.

“Can we please just forget this happened?” Harry asked.

“No, you have to tell me,” Louis insisted.

“I really don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

“No.”

“Come on, Haz.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Everyone else knows.”

“I don’t mind them knowing.”

“And you mind me knowing?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“I’m calling Liam and asking him.”

“They wouldn’t tell you.”

“I bet I could get Niall to cave.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Louis then stopped and really looked at Harry. Harry was clutching his shirt so tightly that his knuckles were whitening. Louis gently put his hand over Harry’s, and Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. His hand relaxed slightly under Louis’, twisting it to give Louis’ a gentle squeeze.

“You can talk to me, Haz,” Louis said softly.

Harry took a deep breath and sat up straight. He moved his hand slowly away from Louis’ and cleared his throat. Louis felt his palms start to sweat and he wasn’t sure why.

“The song was about you, you idiot,” Harry said.

Louis just sat there, baffled. He honestly wished he could remember the lyrics. He’d spent so long thinking it was about Harry’s eyesight, that he was struggling to hear it as it apparently actually was. He ran through all the lyrics he could remember, and tried to puzzle out what Harry was actually trying to tell him.

Then he remembered the last line. _‘You’re all I want / So much it’s hurting’._ The line that had confused Louis. The one he’d heard that didn’t fit in with his interpretation.

Louis didn’t like the term ‘lightbulb moment’. He thought the concept of a lightbulb appearing above your head every time you had an idea would make playing pranks impossible. He thought the word ‘epiphany’ was too pretentious. Everything slotting into place? Yeah. Louis liked that better.

That’s what it felt like. Every single like little moment seemed to now make sense, and Newcastle became startlingly clear in place of its previous hazy confusion. Louis felt it like a punch in the gut.

Harry had feelings for him. Harry sang a song about it. Louis told him he was ‘sorry’. Harry thought Louis rejected him. Louis felt a bit sick.

“I,” Louis stammered. “I didn’t know.”

“I know that now,” Harry said.

Louis shook his head, then took a deep breath.

“Well this is fucked up,” Louis said.

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly.

“Because I’ve been trying to not have a crush on you pretty much since you peed on me.”

Harry then seemed to come to a complete stop. His breathing slowed and his fingers stopped fiddling with his shirt. For a brief moment, Harry seemed to brighten, before he tensed himself up again.

“You,” he said. Then he hesitated. “Why would you try to stop?”

“Because,” Louis said, keeping his voice even. If Harry was going to be honest, then Louis would too, no matter how much of an effort he was having to make to force down his anxiety. “I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

Harry didn’t react for a moment, remaining still and tense. Louis swallowed as he tried to keep himself under control, shutting down his mind every time it started to wander. Then Harry started to smile. Then he barked out a short disbelieving laugh, and he started to relax, his shoulders drooping and his smile lighting him up.

“I didn’t want to take advantage of _you_ ,” Harry said. “I didn’t want to make you date me out of pity or anything like that.”

Louis unashamedly stretched out his leg from underneath him and kicked Harry in the shin, as Harry yelped in protest.

“When have I ever pitied you?” Louis said.

“Fair,” Harry said, smiling.

Louis’ brain was still trying to catch up, until finally everything that had been said started to sink in. Louis beamed elatedly, and didn’t try to hide the excitement from his voice.

“You like me,” Louis said.

Yes, Harry had been saying it. Yes, Louis had been responding to it. Yet Louis hadn’t _known_ it until that moment. As he saw that smile on Harry’s face, that open and genuine beam that made Harry look ridiculously young and innocent, Louis finally realised that Harry was smiling that way because of _him_. Harry liked him enough to write a song about him. Louis had been not-crushing on Harry for nearly a year. Louis had spent so long trying to deny he felt anything, and then convincing himself that it was wrong to feel that way, that Louis had never once considered that Harry might like him back.

Harry laughed, bright and clear. “I think you need to listen to my song again.”

“Yeah, I think I do,” Louis said breathlessly.

Louis just watched Harry’s face, so soft and happy, that a great excitement rose in Louis. He crawled forward to Harry, seeing Harry’s head move to follow the sound. When Louis was kneeling right in front of Harry, he gently reached his hand out and touched Harry’s cheek. There was that electricity again that Louis had felt before.

“Lou,” Harry said, his voice deepening. “I want to know what you look like. Can I?”

Harry reached out a hand. Louis reluctantly dropped his own hand, realising what Harry meant, and nodded. When Harry didn’t move, Louis silently berated himself.

“I nodded,” Louis said.

Louis shuffled forward to meet Harry’s fingers. He crossed his legs as Harry gently started to trace Louis’ face. Louis felt oddly exposed, and gripped the leg of his jeans to keep from fidgeting. He came starkly aware of every flaw on his face, finding fault where he hadn’t found any before, and tried not to panic. He hoped Harry liked what he felt, anyhow, though Louis didn’t know if Harry was looking for anything in particular. He’d tried to follow the movement of Harry’s fingers with his eyes, but they were just a blur to him. He watched Harry instead, though Harry’s own face was giving nothing away; he was frowning in concentration, as Louis had seen him do while writing a song. He swallowed; Harry’s touch was so delicate that Louis barely felt it, as Harry moved his fingertips slowly over Louis’ jaw, the bridge of his nose, the creases by his eyes, and ghosted over his lips.

Louis’ skin could still feel Harry’s touch as Harry took his hand away. Louis bit his lip as he watched the frown slowly change on Harry’s face to a small peaceful smile. Louis relaxed the grip on his jeans and exhaled heavily, and Harry’s smile just seemed to brighten.

“I can see you now, Lou,” Harry said, contentedly.

Louis believed it. Harry had spent so long experiencing the world by touching it, that Louis didn’t doubt that Harry could now see him as clearly as Louis could see Harry. Louis hummed happily, the idea making Louis nearly euphoric.

“Oh yeah? Am I hot?” Louis asked.

“Ruggedly handsome,” Harry said.

Louis laughed at that. “Of course, you’re hot too. But you know that well enough by now, you don’t need me inflating your ego.”

Harry then laughed, and Louis smiled softly. His face was still so close to Harry’s that he could feel his breath. Louis gently placed his hand again on Harry’s cheek, giving it a slow stroke. Harry leaned into the contact easily.

“Haz,” Louis said. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out.

Louis shifted onto his knees, leaning over where Harry was still sitting cross-legged in front of him. Louis leaned down, placing both his hands gently on Harry’s cheeks, giving gentle strokes along Harry’s cheekbones with his thumbs. Harry’s lips parted slightly, and Louis smiled as he leaned in. He pressed against his lips gently, closed-mouthed, stroking his cheekbones again. Harry then lifted a hand and wrapped it around Louis’ neck, pulling him in closer. Harry then kissed Louis, more firmly than Louis had done. Louis kissed back, following Harry’s lead. Louis parted his lips, and Harry did the same to allow Louis’ tongue in. Harry then reached up and tangled a hand in Louis’ hair, gently nipping Louis’ bottom lip.

They moved together then as they always had done; Louis letting Harry lead by always waiting for his permission, and Harry following whatever pace Louis wanted. Harry gave Louis his trust, without reserve, and Louis endeavoured to earn what he already had. It should’ve been difficult, there should’ve been decisions to be made, yet there weren’t. Not for them. It was as it always had been; it was _easy_.

 

-

 

Louis _wasn’t_ grumpy. He _wasn’t_ exhausted. He _was definitely_ looking forward to their final show. That was what Louis told himself anyway, as he nursed _yet another_ mug of coffee, grumbling that it wasn’t tea, while Liam continued to ply him with more and more caffeine.

Staying up all night talking was a lot more romantic in films. Louis wondered whether any of those characters actually had to work the next day, and then mumbled bitterly that of course they didn’t because they all inexplicably had money when they didn’t have real jobs. They could sit up all night, or run around saving the world, and they’d carry on being alert and useful and looking flawless until the film ended. Zayn reminded him that they weren’t real in the first place. Louis moodily kicked him.

It hadn’t even really been either of their idea; it had just kind of happened. Unlike their initial conversation, which apparently Harry had been itching to have for about a week. Louis had just started talking, then Harry had started talking, and they didn’t realise the time until Louis noticed the stars had all been replaced by the sunrise.

The conversations in the films were usually more romantic too. They’d started off well; Louis had asked why Harry had been attracted to him in the first place, then it had all gone downhill from there.

“It was your voice,” Harry had said.

“That’s kinda weird,” Louis had said.

“No it’s not. Your voice is you, it’s how you talk, it’s pretty much the most expressive part of you.”

“So, what? My diction turns you on?”

“Fuck you,” Harry had said, with no bite whatsoever. “So what was it for you then? If voice is so stupid.”

“Well, you might not know this, but you’re kinda hot.”

Harry had playfully shoved him, as Louis grinned.

“No, really,” Harry had said.

“Really. Your face.”

“You liked me because of my face?”

“Yeah?” Louis had said, as if it was obvious.

“How’s that any better than me liking you for your voice? My face is just part of my body, doesn’t mean it’s me.”

“Yeah, well, my voice is just my voice box, _doesn’t mean it’s me_.”

“Shut up, it’s _the way_ you talk, what words you use, your tone, how you say things, what you say and don’t say, it’s way better than you just thinking I have a nice nose.”

“So really, you’re just attracted to a certain accent. If you met someone else from Doncaster, would I need to be worried?”

“If _you_ met someone else with a good-looking face, would _I_ need to be worried?”

“Fair point,” Louis had said.

“You’re such a dick,” Harry had said.

Louis had then put on the shrillest voice he could. “Am I still hot?”

That had then descended into some sort of banter which Louis was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be the stuff of great romance, some more kissing which had been pretty nice, then onto Louis making Harry rate accents by attractiveness until Harry had teasingly put Irish at the top, so Louis had pouted until Harry had tried to kiss him to cheer him up, yet he’d missed and kissed Louis’ nostril, and Louis had laughed until _Harry_ had pouted, and Louis had stroked Harry’s hair and let him talk about baking. Then, of course, Louis had to challenge Harry on it despite knowing nothing about it, which Harry had responded to by declaring that his favourite football team was Rotherham United. Then sunrise. Then there’d been an awful lot of complaining about the next day, and they’d planned to just stay awake, yet that’d been shot to hell when Harry had fallen asleep mid-sentence. It’d taken Louis about an hour of pacing of resenting Harry as he slept before he was finally tired enough to even try. Then, of course, an irate Liam had banged on the door to Louis’ empty room because the show was coming up, before finding them and hauling them to the theatre with enough caffeine to fuel a library full of undergrads.

Harry, sod him, was annoyingly chipper and alert, and Louis doubted he needed the coffee at all. Louis quickly realised it meant that he got out of having any awkward conversations, after Harry had gone in to kiss Louis and Niall had applauded (Harry, of course, had kissed Louis’ eyebrow by accident). Despite how grumpy Louis was, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of victory as he heard Harry try to bat off invasive questions while he was able to sit blissfully in silence.

“Lou,” Harry said, walking towards him.

Louis set his mug down and walked over to Harry, holding his elbow out. Harry smiled and took it, letting his cane fall limp in his hand. Harry ran his thumb over Louis’ rolled up sleeve, and Louis grinned. He was wearing some fluffy white monstrosity that made him look like an infuriated kitten whose fur had been rubbed backwards with a balloon.

“Is this a new jumper?” Harry asked, running his thumb over Louis’ rolled up sleeve.

“Yeah,” Louis said, leading Harry towards the stage.

“It feels gorgeous,” Harry said happily.

“It actually looks really sodding ugly,” Louis said. “But I saw it in the shop and thought you’d like the feel of it, so.”

The beam that Louis got from Harry was enough to send his stomach doing enough backflips that Louis nearly forgot how tired he was. Louis dropped his arm and faced Harry, gently taking Harry’s cheek and leaning in to kiss him. Louis felt Harry smiling against his lips and he vowed to buy as many fluffy jumpers as he could get his hands on.

“I’m going to sing ‘Something Great’ again,” Harry said.

Louis hummed and took Harry’s hand in his, ignoring the yelps of approval coming from the stage.

“If you’ll listen to it properly this time,” Harry added teasingly.

“Dunno,” Louis said. “I’m pretty tired. Might not stick around for the whole set.”

Harry started to protest, when Louis leaned in again and awkwardly kissed the bridge of Harry’s nose. Harry laughed, tugging on Louis’ hand as he moved.

“Sorry,” Louis said. “I missed.”

To Liam’s chagrin, Harry refused to soundcheck ‘Something Great’ because he wanted it to be a statement. Louis pretended to hide from Liam behind his keyboard, while actually trying to get rid of his blush, which Zayn had seen but gracefully said nothing about.

They were all surprisingly motivated. Louis had moaned at first, but people started making comments at him like ‘last show _ever_ ’ and ‘you can sleep when the tour’s over, which is only about three hours away’, so Louis finally got off his arse and started helping set up. Everything came to a standstill though when Niall started to slow down.

“It’s the last show,” Niall said, his voice coming out strangled.

“Yeah, but then we can _sleep_ ,” Louis said.

“The last show,” Niall repeated.

“And play footie.”

“The last show.”

“And _not drive_.”

“ _The last show_.”

“Niall,” Louis said. “I’m trying to loosen up the atmosphere here, and quite frankly you’re not helping me at all.”

“Harry, will we be your band again next year?” Niall asked.

Harry hesitated, and his jaw twitched. “Yeah, of course.”

Zayn coaxed Niall back into checking his guitar, and Louis immediately failed to act casual when walking over to Harry.

“You have no idea if you’re going on tour again, do you?” Louis whispered. “We’re alone,” he added, when Harry looked nervous.

“I was _asked_ to do this one,” Harry said quietly. “Public demand, you know? No idea if they’ll want me again.”

Louis paused, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder, softly stroking his thumb in repetitive circles. Then he abruptly stopped and playfully slapped his arm.

“Better put on a good show tonight, then,” he said cheerfully.

Harry laughed, and reached his hand out, which Louis then took. Harry then frowned.

“Just, one thing,” Harry said.

“Oh no,” Louis said. “You know you always hold my hand when you ask me not to do something?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smiling. “I also know that you always exaggerate the size of the audience to me before a show.”

Louis’ mouth dropped open slightly, and he stammered. Harry laughed.

“I can hear how big the crowd is for myself. And I can hear when you’re lying, Lou,” Harry said.

“It’s not lying, I’m trying to help-”

“I know,” Harry interrupted. “I know you’re trying to make me feel good. Just, tonight’s the last show. If there’s a tiny audience, I don’t care, because I just want to have fun. So tell me the truth this time?”

“Alright,” Louis said, sighing. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Harry said. “I always took it as a sign you liked me, one of many, actually-”

“There weren’t _many_ ,” Louis protested.

Harry just hummed and started adjusting his mic. Louis rolled his eyes and headed back to his keyboard. It wasn’t long before Liam was ushering them all offstage again as the audience started to arrive.

While Louis and Harry had been talking, the rest of the band had apparently decided to pull some cans of cider out of the tour bus. Liam, Zayn and Niall were all sprawled on the backstage floor with cans for themselves, as Louis walked Harry over so they could join in. Niall’s anxiety about the end of the tour had started to seep into the rest of the band, though none of them had wanted to admit it, so they mostly sat in silence. It was a good way to keep them from checking the size of the audience every ten seconds, anyway.

Louis was usually calm; whether it was a big audience or a small one didn’t bother him. It wasn’t that anything rested on this show, not really, it was just another night. So Louis told himself, anyway. The idea of it being any sort of ‘ending’, or a decider on if they’d have another tour, was too much pressure. Louis forced the thought down every time it showed up. All he was left with was a bit of a headache.

When Liam put his can down, they all knew it was show time. They wordlessly hauled themselves off the floor, Louis holding out his hand to pull Harry with him.

It was a clear walk to the microphone this time. Bristol had given them a good-sized stage. No wires and no instruments to climb over. The one downside of a good venue was always the lighting, which usually messed up Louis’ vision if he looked up for too long. He squinted while looking down as he walked Harry up to the front, hearing the sound of a welcoming applause from the audience. Louis kept his breathing steady, dropping his arm once he and Harry reached the mic stand. Harry smiled at the audience, reaching out to find the mic for himself. Then Louis looked up.

“Ready?” Louis said, after a moment.

“Yeah,” Harry said softly, covering the mic.

Louis turned to go back to his keyboard, stopping to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper into his ear.

“Full house,” he said.

Louis watched Harry’s smile slowly grow, until Harry was beaming and his cheeks dimpled. Louis seriously considered the repercussions of kissing Harry right there and then. He gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze before walking back to his keyboard.

“Hi everybody,” Harry said into his mic. “I’m Harry Styles. As some of you may know, tonight’s our last show, so let’s make it a good one, right? I’m gonna get off to a terrible start by giving my band an aneurysm and say, I’m changing the set list already. But luckily, they don’t need to be able to play for a few minutes because I’m gonna make a vague attempt at playing guitar for you.”

Louis sighed deliberately into his mic, as he hauled himself up again to find Harry’s guitar. Liam hurried past him to grab the stool, looking far less harassed than Louis would’ve expected.

“This song is called ‘Something Great’, and it’s one I just wrote recently,” Harry was saying, as Liam and Louis gathered around him.

Liam set the stool down, and Harry shuffled himself back onto it as he talked. Louis lifted the guitar strap over Harry’s head, lowering it into his lap. He stopped as he heard a cheer from the audience. He strained his eyes as he tried to see past the lights, and saw the girl with the sign again, waving her banner over her head. He turned to Harry to tell him, but Harry’s grin meant that he’d recognised her cheer. Louis smiled, giving Harry’s shoulder another stroke as he walked away.

To say Louis was anxious was an understatement. Louis cleared his mind of all his previous thoughts, and told himself to listen to the song as if he were hearing it for the first time. The song Harry had written about _him_. Louis shouldn’t have been nervous to hear how Harry really felt about him, especially as he _already knew_ , yet his palms felt a little sweaty anyway.

When Louis sat down on his own stool, all he could see at the front of the stage was the outline of Harry, illuminated by the stage lights, casting back a shadow that disappeared underneath Louis’ keyboard. Louis squinted again, as the light started to hurt his eyes. Yet he was determined to keep looking forward, to keep looking at Harry.

“This song is dedicated to my keyboard player,” Harry said. “Who definitely has a great arse.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Andrea Begley, for both putting on a great show and having an attractive guitarist, and indirectly seeding this fic into my brain.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://simplestardust.tumblr.com/) (and the post for the fic is [here](http://simplestardust.tumblr.com/post/122097734615/counting-the-stars-behind-the-clouds-harry-louis)).


End file.
